Something Borrowed
by BroadwayBaggins
Summary: After a brutal breakup, Sybil Crawley is left without a date to her sister's wedding. When fate throws Tom Branson into her life, she hires him to pretend to be her boyfriend in order to prove to her family-and her ex-that she's moved on. But what happens when a simple business transaction turns into much more than she bargained for? Based on the movie The Wedding Date.
1. Chapter 1

_I got this feeling on a summer day when you were gone_

_I crashed my car into the bridge, I watched, I let it burn_

_I threw your shit into a bag and pushed it down the stairs_

_I crashed my car into the bridge_

_I don't care_

-"I Love It" by Icona Pop

* * *

The first thing Sybil saw when she woke up that morning was the invitation.

It sat on her bedside table as it always did, taking precedence over her reading lamp and her alarm clock and the manuscript she was currently struggling through, propped up against a bottle of hand lotion and the sleeping pills that she only used in when absolutely necessary. Of course, situations where they were considered absolutely necessary had been coming more and more frequently as the date on the invitation had approached, and as a result the bottle of pills was nearly empty. Funny, she thought as her bleary eyes focused on the creamy white paper in front of her, how something as small as an invitation could seem to take up the entire room. The single piece of paper had been read and handled so many times that the edges were now soft and frayed, and there were creases here and there that had not been present when she'd opened the envelope all those months ago. The once-pristine invitation was now stained here and there, the ink running in places where tears or splatters of red wine had hit it, making the words in some places almost unrecognizable. It didn't matter. Sybil knew its contents by heart.

_You are cordially invited to celebrate the wedding of_

_**Mary Josephine Crawley**__,_

_Daughter of Robert and Cora Crawley, the Earl and Countess of Grantham,_

_And_

_**Matthew Reginald Crawley**__,_

_Son of Reginald and Isobel Crawley_

_On Saturday afternoon_

_June the 22__nd_

_At two o'clock_

_At their estate of Downton Abbey, Yorkshire_

_With reception to follow_

Even more ingrained onto her memory were the words written so carefully on the envelope, words she had read a thousand times over and with a thousand questions in her heart each and every time. It was simply an address in London, nothing more, but what Sybil truly cared about was the names written above it. It was this that she had lost so many nights sleep over, wondering what she could have ever done wrong. Two names, seeming so innocent and right at the time when the invitation had been mailed out, but now made Sybil sick to her stomach each and every time she read them. _Ms. Sybil Crawley and Mr. Larry Grey._

Back when Mary—or more likely Anna, or the wedding planner—had sent out the invitations, putting these names together had seemed the natural thing to do. Now, though, six months later, they felt like a cruel joke, and as Sybil sat up in bed the first thing she did was reach for the envelope and tear it into as many pieces as she could.

"I should've done that months ago," she muttered, the bitterness in her voice audible even through the grogginess. Last night had been another wasted night spent tossing and turning and wondering what she had done wrong, even as a voice in her head told her to stop feeling sorry for herself, that it wasn't anything _she_ had done. It couldn't have been, or so her family and friends had been trying to reassure her for six months. Sybil wasn't sure whether her inability to let go was because she truly did not believe them, or because she was still too angry after all this time to even think about letting it go.

Looking back on it now, Sybil still did not know how she couldn't have seen it coming. She had been dating Larry Grey for almost two years when he had broken it off without warning, giving her no reason for the split whatsoever. There had been an explosive fight, during which she had thrown the majority of his possessions out of the window of their flat, but even through all the tears and the shouts that had no doubt woken more than a few of the neighbors at the three in the morning, he had refused to give any sort of explanation beyond the fact that the two of them had changed and wanted different things. As Sybil sat there, sunlight streaming in through the curtains and the sounds of London's morning commute speeding by her flat, she was suddenly transported to six months earlier. There she was standing in front of Larry watching her life fall apart, listening to him as he told her that they had simply changed too much for this relationship to work. There was Sybil screaming obscenities at him, demanding to know how she had changed when to her, everything seemed exactly the same. She was the same woman she always had been, Sybil Patricia Crawley, book editor and activist, the very same little girl Larry had grown up with all those years ago in Yorkshire. Now she was demanding that he tell her the truth, and he was grabbing her tiny wrists and shouting at her as she went back and forth between the window and his closet, throwing all of those expensive suits that he seemed to care about far more than he did about her to the soaking wet pavement below…

Sybil's phone buzzed, alerting her that she had a text and startling her out of her reverie. She glanced down at it, knowing before she even read it that it was bound to be from her sister. Sure enough, Mary's name blinked up at her from the screen. _Four days to go! Excited and terrified! Call me when you get the chance, darling. xoxo._

Sybil set the phone aside without answering as she stood up. She loved her sister, truly, but facing a conversation with Mary about the wedding before she had even had her coffee yet was just asking for disaster. Mary was not the typical Bridezilla, or so their mother had tried to assure Sybil whenever they spoke on the phone, but as the date of the wedding neared her usual perfectionist tendencies were leaning more and more towards hysteria. Sybil wasn't sure if she could take one more conversation about flower arrangements and seating charts, caterers and guest lists and wedding gift registries…not to mention the never-ending question of who exactly was going to be Sybil's plus-one.

The moment they had gotten the news of the breakup, Sybil's family had responded just as she had known they would. Her mother had taken the train down from Yorkshire to surprise her, spoiling her with special dinners and shopping trips and, most importantly, being the shoulder to cry on that Sybil had so desperately needed. The fact that her mother had known that her baby needed her without Sybil even having to ask had touched her to her core, and Cora had stayed nearly a week helping her try to get her bearings again. It was odd how Sybil had never considered herself truly, 100% happy when she was with Larry, but now that this man who had been a constant in her life not just for the past two years of their relationship but from their entire childhood had walked out of her life without a single word, she felt as if the floor had been pulled out from underneath her. She had literally known Larry Grey all of her life—his father was Mary's godfather, for God's sake—and no one had been surprised when they had finally started dating after their Christmas get-together two years ago. The breakup, though, shocked them all. Sybil's grandmother had paid several angry visits to the Grey family home, demanding explanations that his bewildered parents were unable to give her, and had spent the next six months speculating and scowling every time Sybil's failed relationship was even hinted at. Edith and her boyfriend Anthony had immediately severed all ties to Larry, even going so far as to return the birthday gift he had sent Edith a few months later, unopened, to his new address in London. Her father had been equal parts sympathetic and furious, and Matthew, who had been planning to make Larry his best man (more for lack of a better candidate than for any real friendship they shared) had threatened to relieve him of his position until Mary had put a stop to it. Mary, of course, was sympathetic to her sister's plight, but anything that threatened to throw off the perfect wedding she had been planning in her head since Matthew's proposal nearly made her sick. It wasn't out of cruelty or insensitivity towards her sister—or so Sybil told herself time and time again when it was brought up—but simply because Mary had been dreaming of this day for so long and wanted it to be perfect. And in Mary's world, that meant not changing plans once they were set in stone. That meant that, for better or worse, Larry Grey would be staying on as in the wedding party…and, of course, Sybil still needed a plus-one of her own.

It made sense, if she truly thought about it. It was Mary's day, hers and Matthew's, and not Sybil's. She could be a big girl and put her sister's happiness before her own for this one day. She could handle seeing Larry after so long. The only problem with this picture-perfect plan was that the wedding was now only four days away, and Sybil Crawley was still hopelessly dateless.

It wasn't for lack of trying. Gwen had pushed her to get back out into the dating world about two months after the breakup, tired of seeing Sybil sulk and blame herself for something that she had not started. They had tried blind dates, mutual friends, even a disastrous night of speed-dating that had ended with the consumption of two and a half bottles of tequila between the two of them as they rehashed the horrors of the evening. Maybe, on some level, it was her fault, that the fact that she was still beating herself up over the past was preventing her from moving into the future. Maybe there were simply no datable men to be found in all of London. Either way, she was a failure in some way, and calling Mary to tell her that she still had no date would only cement that fact. It would make it real, and Sybil wasn't ready to face the fact that time had run out just yet.

"Damn it," Sybil whispered harshly.

Her phone rang then, thankfully, before the tears could begin to fall again. Sybil almost jumped at the sound, wondering how Mary had known that she was avoiding her. When she glanced at the caller ID, though, she found not her sister's name but the name of her assistant instead. She answered it quickly, running her fingers through her long brown hair as she held the phone to her ear. "Hey, Daisy, what is it?"

Daisy was another girl she and her sisters had grown up with, although she was several years younger and about ten times more naïve than each of them. This was her first job, which Sybil had been only too happy to give to her until she realized that having Daisy work for her could sometimes serve to create more problems than it solved. As she listened to her launch into some horror story about misplaced manuscripts and angry authors, Sybil felt another headache coming on. "Daisy, Daisy, slow down. I'd love to help you, really, but I'm off until Monday, remember? Because of the wedding? I made sure Mary sent you an invitation."

"Oh, she did! I'm coming up Friday. But please, Sybil, can you just get down here and help me get this sorted out? It won't take but an hour and I'll never ask you for anything again as long as I live, I promise…"

"Okay," Sybil said quickly, not wanting to give Daisy the chance to beg some more. Knowing her, it would take twice as long for her to finish asking as it would to solve this crisis in the first place. It would be easier on everyone involved just to go down there. "Just give me a chance to get dressed and I'll be right there."

"Oh, thank you, Sybil, thank you!"

Twenty minutes later, having quickly showered and changed, Sybil found herself stuck in traffic. Her hands drummed agitatedly against the steering wheel as she sat growing more annoyed by the minute. Next to her in the cupholder her phone buzzed cheerfully again, showing another text from Mary. Sybil tossed it into the backseat without looking at it. "Come on, come on…" she all but growled, glaring daggers at the car in front of her. She could already hear Mary's voice, asking her if she couldn't have tried just a little harder to find someone, anyone, to be her date. She could see the looks on the faces of relatives she only saw a few times a year, comparing Mary and Edith's happy relationships to Sybil's failed one, judging her even as they claimed sympathy. Poor little Sybil, so successful in her career but a failure in everything else, poor Sybil, blindsided by the man she had thought she loved…

Up ahead, the light turned green. Sybil blindly stepped on the gas, pulling out into the intersection and preparing to turn.

She didn't see the other car until it was too late.

* * *

**Author's Note: What a way to end the first chapter, huh? Don't worry too much about our Sybil, I would never hurt her like that! I just wanted to quickly thank YankeeCountess and darlingsybil for encouraging me to write this—you guys rock! Hope everyone enjoyed this first chapter!**


	2. Chapter 2

_Like rain that falls without a warning_

_On a sunny morning_

_This is how we met_

-"How We Met" by Teen Canteen

* * *

Sybil screamed and slammed on the brakes as the steel gray car pulled out in front of her. Her tires screeched against the pavement as she tried to come to a stop, but it was no use. With a tremendous jolt her car collided with the other one, crumpling the back bumper as if it were made of nothing more than cheap cardboard. Sybil was propelled forward across the steering wheel just as the airbags deployed, her seatbelt already beginning to cut into her neck as she landed with her face directly in the surface of the airbag. She heard the horrible sound of breaking glass and covered her head, sure that her windshield had shattered and would soon be raining down on her, but when she did not feel the impact of hundreds of shards of glass she realized it must be the lights of either her car or the man she had hit breaking. The car seemed to shudder to a stop, and Sybil remained there for a long moment, breathing hard and trying to keep from bursting into tears. She hadn't had a car accident since she was sixteen and had borrowed her father's car without permission, but she had felt as shaken up then as she did now. Carefully she did a mental inventory of her body, making sure there were no serious injuries that needed to be addressed. Her head and neck were slightly sore and her hands hurt from gripping the steering wheel so tightly, but other than that she seemed fine. Carefully, she peered over her steering wheel as the driver of the other car unbuckled his seatbelt and got out. "Oh god…" she murmured, quickly doing the same. "Here we go…"

She knew she should have never listened to Daisy.

Her legs wobbled a bit as she stepped out of the car. Immediately after she had shut the door, the rain that had been threatening to fall since the moment she'd hung up the phone with Daisy—sunny weather never lasted long these days, or so it seemed to her—began in earnest, first a light mist that dampened her hair and then steadily growing stronger. Sybil hardly noticed, though, for her eyes were locked onto the gray car she had hit…or what was left of the back end of it. It was an older model, worn and slightly battered and apparently made out of much weaker stuff than her own, for the back bumper was twisted almost beyond recognition .Both taillights lay in ruins, shards of glass littering the street below. Looking to her own car, she saw a busted headlight of her own and a rather sizeable dent, but no other visible damage. "Shit," she muttered to herself as the driver approached her, his fists clenching. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, with light brown hair and anger flashing in his blue eyes. Sybil's heart lurched, her breathing labored and heavy as her hands trembled at her sides. The accident she'd been in when she was sixteen had at least not been her fault, although her father had still taken away her driving privileges for a month afterwards. As she stood looking at the wreckage of this poor man's car, though, it was plain as day just who was a fault here. "Shit, shit, shit!"

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the man shouted. Now that he was closer Sybil could see that his face was slowly turning red with anger, and there was a muscle gently pulsing in his jaw as he glared at her. "Didn't you see me pull out in front of you? What the hell were you thinking?"

Sybil swallowed hard, trying to find her voice around the lump that had formed in her throat. He was still glaring daggers at her, making her feel about an inch tall, and he hadn't even looked at the damage her car had done yet. She suddenly felt light-headed. "I'm…" she whispered, completely at a loss for words as she struggled to find a way to explain herself. At this point, she wasn't sure if there was a way to explain away what she had done. "I'm sorry, I…I wasn't looking, I..I wasn't paying attention…"

"Well I can see that!" the man roared as cars continued to speed by them on the road. Apparently, witnessing someone being completely rear-ended on their morning commute did not faze them, for none of them pulled over or even bothered to roll down the window, and from the lack of approaching sirens Sybil was guessing none of them had bothered to call for help either. _Shit._ "What I can't see is why! Didn't anyone ever teach you not to drive straight into oncoming traffic? For God's sake, what's the matter with you?" As he spoke, Sybil realized his accent was becoming more and more pronounced, growing along with his anger. Irish, she was certain…not that it mattered. He would hate her no matter where he was from. That much was obvious. Her heart sank even further as the rain escalated into a full-blown downpour, until she was sure it was somewhere in the vicinity of her shoes. What was wrong with her, he had asked…

"Where do you want me to start?" she muttered in response, unable to meet those furious blue eyes. As it turned out, he wasn't looking at her at all, for his gaze had just landed on his car. Sybil heard a sharp intake of breath, and braced herself for the worst.

"What have you done?" he whispered, his tone strained as if she had just run over his puppy instead of smashed into his car. Sybil shrank back a little further, hating herself for being so meek and timid in the face of this enraged stranger. Once upon a time she would have had the courage to get right into his face as he was doing with her, but now she couldn't even bring herself to fight back. Larry had apparently taken the woman she had once been with him when he left, and she didn't hate anything else on this earth as much as she hated herself for letting him do it.

"She's ruined!" the man continued, startling Sybil out of the pity party she had currently raging in her head. "Look what you've done to her!"

"She?"

"My car!" he cried, seeming truly wounded by the damage she had unwittingly inflicted. "She's…I'll never be able to fix this by myself! Oh God…"

"I'll pay for the damages," Sybil said quickly, eager to get this nightmare settled as soon as possible. She said a quick prayer that she had remembered to bring along her checkbook. "I mean, I can help…"

"You're damn right you can," the man responded, although he seemed distracted now as he assessed the damage himself. "Look at this car you've got. You can probably afford to pay for the repairs for mine a few times over."

"Maybe," Sybil said, narrowing her eyes at him. "Although I don't see how that's any of your business, considering you're a complete stranger."

He turned to her, his eyes flashing. "_You_ destroyed my car. I don't think you're in any place to pass judgement, Miss."

The woman she had been before all this mess began would have argued back, defending herself against him and his harsh judgement. But Sybil was a different woman now, whether she liked it or not, and she found herself slumping. "You're right," she whispered, clenching her fists. "You're right. It's my fault…I wasn't paying attention. I swear, I never do this…it's just my sister's getting married in four days and the best man is my ex and…" Her voice broke then—God, was she actually _crying_ in front of a total stranger who seemed hell-bent on hating her? And she had thought she could sink no lower. "And he just walked out on me, with no warning, and… and…"

As hot, shameful tears continued to stream down her cheeks, dampening it just as much as the rain that was busily plastering their hair to their heads, she saw the man's face start to soften. "Hey, now, it can't be all that bad," he said, remorse written in his blue eyes and replacing the anger of before. "No cryin', now, that's cheating…" He sighed, glancing between their cars and the surrounding street, devoid of pedestrians. "Look, let's at least get out of the rain and talk this over, okay? You look pretty damn shaken up. I've been in a few accidents myself, it can be scary, I know. You just need to sit a while. It'll be all right, I promise. Just…Come with me."

Sybil wasn't sure what made her say yes, but before she knew it she was opening the door of her own car, grabbing her purse and throwing it over her shoulder following the man away from their cars and down the street.

* * *

They ended up in a cozy little pub that was somehow already open this early in the morning. The man led her to sit right at the bar, nodding to the bartender that stood polishing glasses behind it. On the way over Sybil had ended up spilling to him the majority of the details of her breakup with Larry, realizing that she was sounding more desperate and emotionally unstable by the minute, but it was as if someone had turned a faucet on full-blast—once she got started speaking, she couldn't stop. The man, whoever he was, hadn't said a word, just listening intently as he led her along. She had no idea what he was thinking, but perhaps it was for the best. It would only complicate this whole fiasco even further, and that was the last thing she wanted right now. Sybil didn't even glance up as he sat her down as if she were a doll, his hand lingering on her shoulder, damp from the rain, for just a moment before he turned away. The bartender, to his credit, seemed entirely nonplussed about having two people who looked rather like a pair of drowned rats at his bar this early. "We'll have two of whatever the strongest drink is that you can serve at eleven o'clock in the morning," Tom told him as he slid into the seat beside Sybil. "And two bowls of your soup of the day, to warm us up a little bit, if you could. Thanks."

As the bartender turned away to fetch their order, Sybil turned to Tom apologetically. "God, I haven't even introduced myself yet. You must think I'm…" The man raised an eyebrow at her, and she let the rest of her sentence trail off. "Absolutely insane," she added after a moment, looking down at her lap. "I'm Sybil Crawley."

He gave a short nod, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards in what might have been a smile. "I know who you are."

"You do?" Sybil asked, her brow furrowing.

Now he chuckled. "You don't remember me, do you?" Sybil shook her head, a gesture both confused and contrite, and he continued. "I'm Tom Branson. We met a few months ago at a party over in Islington." Sybil gave him another blank look. A few months ago she had still been deep in what Edith had called her 'breakup fog', and she was having trouble recalling any parties that she had attended recently. Thankfully, Tom saved her. "I'm a writer," he explained. "It was an industry party. I work for a small newspaper here, but I'm working on a book, too." Now he looked slightly uncomfortable. "Your, um…your publishing house has rejected me twice."

"Oh my God," Sybil said, her hands involuntarily coming up to cover her mouth. "So if you didn't hate me before, you really hate me now."

Tom gave a shrug. "Never said I hated you," he said quietly. "You weren't the one that rejected my book, just your company. And I've still got my column."

"Er…right. Your column," Sybil said awkwardly, still not able to place him. He gave her a little shrug, his silent way of telling her he hadn't expected her to remember him, and for some reason that made her feel even worse. She sighed. "Look…Tom. You don't have to be so nice to me, really. I've just completely destroyed your car—"

"I may have been overreacting just a bit," Tom admitted, his tone apologetic now. "I'm sure she's still drivable. I'll just have to get a better look before I figure out what needs to be fixed." He gave her a sidelong glance, as if choosing his next words carefully. "And how much it's going to cost." His tone was pointed, but not in a rude way, more like he was just reminding her of the promise she had made. "Thankfully, my brother's a mechanic—"

"Oh, thank God!" Sybil interrupted him. "You can take it to him, then, no problem. Maybe he can even give you a discount—"

"—In Liverpool," Tom finished gently, and Sybil blushed at her faux pas. "So…taking it to him might be a bit far-fetched. Although I must say I appreciate your optimism."

Sybil combed her wet hair with her fingers, trying to ignore the feeling of his eyes upon her. She was no longer sure which was worse, his anger from before or the pity he seemed to be giving her now that she had just divulged her entire life story of the past six months to a complete stranger. If there was one thing Sybil Crawley hated, it was other people's pity. That's what her entire reason behind getting back into the dating game had been about, finding someone she could be happy with—or at the very least, bring to the wedding—so that she wouldn't have to face the hushed whispers and sympathetic looks that would follow her the entire weekend of the wedding. Just the thought of it made her eyes begin to fill with tears again, and she looked down before he could see.

The bartender returned with two half-pints of Guinness that looked slightly watered-down from Sybil's perspective, and two bowls of steaming potato cheese soup. Sybil picked up her spoon and stirred it absentmindedly as Tom spoke up. "He's a bastard, you know."

Sybil turned to him, confused. "The bartender?"

"Your ex," Tom corrected her. "Look, I don't know you that well, Sybil, but from what I can tell—aside from your clearly negligent driving," he added, trying to make a joke. Sybil tried to crack a smile, but failed miserably. "I mean, based on what I've heard about you, you're a pretty great girl. Anyone who would be stupid enough to let you go…well, he's a bastard, and he doesn't deserve you. If you don't mind me saying so."

Sybil shrugged. "You can say it all you like. Doesn't mean I'll believe it." She took a sip of her beer, wincing a bit at the taste. She had never been a Guinness fan, although Larry had adored it. She pushed the glass away from her and studied her soup intently, bringing the spoon to her lips. She could feel Tom studying her as if she were a bug under a microscope as she ate, and fought the urge to turn away from him. Finally she heard him pick up his own spoon and start in on the soup, but by that point the tension between them was so thick that Sybil wanted to scream. She pushed the bowl away from her and reached into her purse. "Look, I'm really sorry about all of this. You don't have to be so nice to me, really…God knows I don't deserve it after pulverizing your car. Just…why don't you give me an estimate for what you think it'll cost and I'll write you a check? You and I go our separate ways and we never have to speak of this again."

"Until your company finally agrees to publish my book," Tom teased, but Sybil was no longer listening. She was frantically rummaging through her purse, mumbling to herself. Tom arched an eyebrow.

"_Shit."_ She looked up at him, her eyes pleading. "I forgot my checkbook."

"I don't think I accept credit cards," Tom said, still trying to make her smile. "Sybil, really, it's all right. Don't panic. You can just run home and get it if you want—or I can give you my number and you can get the money to me after this mess with that wedding is settled…"

The wedding.

Sybil's heart suddenly stuttered in her chest, looking at Tom as if for the first time. She had been killing herself over not having a date for months now…what if the solution to her problems was now right in front of her? Tom needed his car fixed, and she had the ability to compensate him for it. What if…she just sweetened the deal a bit to make sure they both got something out of it? It was a long shot, she knew—he would probably think she was even more of a lunatic than he already did—but Sybil had long passed the point of desperation, and the adrenaline that was still buzzing through her veins from the crash was now fueling her every action. "How about," she said slowly, her eyes wide. "I give you the money for the car—plus a thousand pounds extra—if you go to the wedding with me?"

Tom, in the process of taking a sip of his drink, choked. "What?" he spluttered, frantically wiping up the spill with his napkin. He really was cute, Sybil realized as she watched him try to compose himself. "You can't be serious."

"Why not?" Sybil asked, leaning in a bit closer to him before she could stop herself.

"Because…because it's mental!" Tom cried out. "You can't—people don't just hire someone to pose as their date to a wedding! What do you think I am, some kind of…wedding gigolo? I'm a _writer,_ Sybil. A serious writer. I can't just…pack it all up and go to Yorkshire for a weekend to go to a wedding with a bunch of strangers!"

"I never meant it like _that!" _Sybil protested. "The…the gigolo bit, anyway. I just…I really need a date, okay? You don't know what my family is like, they'll eat me up alive if I don't bring somebody. My sister…" she shook her head. "I didn't mean anything inappropriate by it, and I didn't mean to insult you. I just—"

"You just what?" Tom demanded, some of the anger from before flickering back into his eyes. "You just wanted to find someone to parade around to your rich, stuck-up family? And do what, exactly? Prove that you're not a loser?"

"W-what?" Sybil stammered, feeling slightly ashamed that he had seen through her so easily. How was it that already this stranger seemed to know her better than her boyfriend of two years had done? "I…no, that's not…"

"You think you can get me to be your date by bribing me with a thousand pounds? I'm a struggling writer, Sybil, I'm not _destitute." _Tom gave a heavy sigh, picking up his glass again although he did not bring it to his lips. "You shouldn't need a boyfriend to prove that you've got your life together, Sybil. Your family should know that—_you _should know that."

Sybil was finished. She had humiliated herself just about enough for one day, and now she wanted nothing more than to run home and hide under the covers until she had to board the train to Downton tomorrow morning. "Fine," Sybil said hastily, standing up. "I'm sorry I even bothered to bring it up. But…" in one last fit of desperation, she dug through her purse, producing a business card that she handed to him. "If you change your mind, just…just call me, okay?" On impulse, she fumbled for her wallet and left a ten-pound bill on the counter as well, hoping that would be enough money to cover her soup and untouched drink. After making such a fool of herself already, the last thing Sybil wanted was to be in Tom Branson's debt, even if it was just for soup and a beer. _Just take it so I can get the hell out of here…_

He took the card and glanced down at it, opening his mouth as if to retaliate once again. Sybil didn't give him the chance to speak. She was already halfway out the door, fleeing the bar as fast as she could as if trying to leave her embarrassment behind her. By the time Tom looked up from the card, the door had already closed behind her. "Sybil, wait-!"

She was already gone.

"Damn it," he muttered.

He looked down at the number again.

* * *

Sybil ran all the way back to her car, backing up as carefully as she could in the rain without causing any more catastrophes in her wake this time. She hadn't been in the car for more than a few minutes before her phone rang again, the screen lighting up with a number she did not recognize. She quickly found a spot to pull over and answer it, not wanting to cause another car accident with her stupidity and carelessness. There was a pause after she answered, and then a voice punctuated by a now-familiar Irish accent asked, "Before you say anything, just tell me one thing, Sybil Crawley. Just how formal is this wedding supposed to be?"

Sybil's heart nearly turned over in shock, and it took her a second to find her voice. "M-my father is an earl, Tom. It's a black-tie only wedding. Anything less would be considered an embarrassment."

"I see," Tom said, his tone unreadable.

"Does this mean you're considering it?" Sybil asked, hardly daring to hope. She clutched her phone so tightly in her hand that her knuckles turned white once again as she awaited his answer. _Please, please, please…_

"Maybe, Sybil. Maybe…But I won't be forced into a morning coat. So if that's what you had in mind, you can forget about it. No morning coats," he said stubbornly. Even though she knew he couldn't see her, Sybil had to bite her lip to keep herself from smiling at his response.

"We'll see about that," she replied.

There was another pause, so long this time that Sybil took the phone away from her ear for a moment just to make sure it hadn't accidentally dropped the call. When he finally spoke again, she almost dropped the phone in her surprise, struggling to keep it in her now-sweaty grip. "Sybil?" she heard him ask. "You still there?"

"Yeah."

One more pause, even more agonizing than the last. Sybil held her breath.

"I'll do it."

* * *

**Thank you so much for your awesome feedback, guys! I'm glad you're enjoying this story as much as I'm enjoying writing it!**


	3. Chapter 3

**_Author's Note: Again, thanks so much for the fantastic feedback, you guys! I hope this chapter is as good as the last. This chapter is dedicated to the wonderful Yankee Countess, considering that it's her birthday today! I've said it like three times, but happy birthday!_**

* * *

_You hit me once__  
__I hit you back__  
__You gave a kick__  
__I gave a slap__  
__You smashed a plate over my head__  
__Then I set fire to our bed_

-"Kiss With A Fist" by Florence and The Machine

* * *

Even though their train wasn't scheduled to leave until nine o'clock that morning, Sybil's eyes had snapped open promptly at six. She'd spent the next hour tossing and turning, looking between the clock, that damned invitation, and her phone to make sure Tom hadn't yet texted her with second thoughts. She was still finding it so hard to believe that he had agreed to her mad plan, especially since his words to her in the pub had been absolutely right. It _was_ crazy of her to do this, desperate and crazy and more than a little selfish. So then why had this perfect stranger said yes? The question haunted Sybil as she struggled in vain to get back to sleep, finally giving up around seven. Then she began an anxious final clean-up of her flat, deciding that there was no better time than the present to scrub the kitchen counters and clean out the refrigerator. She had intended this frantic cleaning project to calm her down, but with every passing minute she only found herself getting more anxious. What if he changed his mind? What if she got stood up and abandoned by not just her real boyfriend, but the fake one she had hired as well? It was becoming more and more obvious to Sybil that she had probably made a terrible mistake in hiring Tom like this, and her only consolation was that she hadn't paid him in advance. If he wanted his money, he had to live up to his end of their bargain…she just hoped he would.

Once her kitchen was passable and Sybil's heartrate was approaching dangerously high stress levels, she tackled the multiple suitcases she had packed for the wedding weekend, all but throwing her carefully folded clothes across the room. She swapped out certain outfits for others, changing her mind three times about which cocktail dress she would wear to the party that would be held that afternoon to kick off the weekend before throwing in several different options and deciding to choose when she got there. She swapped out sexy underwear for practical underwear and then back again, not knowing what would be considered proper to bring for a weekend away at your sister's wedding with a hired boyfriend, before finally settling on a mix of each. By the time she was finished unpacking and repacking, her closet looked like a hurricane had just blown through, and she was out of time to clean it. She jumped in the shower and got ready as quickly as she could, her thoughts still going a hundred miles an hour in her head as she brushed her teeth so vigorously it started to hurt halfway through. Finally, as she threw her phone into her purse—along with some printouts of Tom's column she'd found online the night before—and zipped the bridesmaid dress that Mary had painstakingly picked out into her garment bag, it was time to go.

Or, she realized as she glanced at the clock above the stove in the kitchen, past time to go.

"Shit."

Sybil ran the rest of the way out of her flat and down the steps to her car, waiting for her at the curb where she'd left it yesterday. She'd gotten her headlight fixed, but the dent in the hood looked worse than ever, and she was thankful that they would be driving a rental car once they got to York. She threw her stuff into the back and took off down the street towards King's Cross, once again drumming nervously on the wheel as she had done the day before. _Please, just show up,_ she whispered in her mind over and over. _Please, please, please…._

The crowd at King's Cross Station was less hectic than she had been expecting on a Thursday morning, and she managed to get to her train with no problems. She arranged to have a ticket waiting for Tom when he arrived, trying to ignore the panicked feeling she'd gotten the moment she had realized he wasn't waiting for her on the platform. When they called for the passengers to begin boarding, Sybil's heart almost stopped altogether. One of the porters helped her to her seat, and Sybil tried to hide the frantic look on her face—failing miserably, of course, for he noticed right away. "You all right, dear?" he asked as he helped her stow her bags away.

Sybil nodded as she turned towards him, pasting on a smile. "I'm fine. I've made this trip hundreds of times—I'm from Yorkshire. It's just," she added before she could stop herself, her mouth running ahead of her brain just as it had yesterday with Tom. "Any minute now my date is going to come in and sit next to me, and I can't explain why but I need him to look really, really, _really_ good today…"

Suddenly Sybil felt a pair of eyes on her, and the porter smiled as he looked over her shoulder. "I don't think you have anything to worry about," he told her before slipping out of the compartment and leaving them a bit of privacy. Sybil took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart before, slowly, turning around.

He _did_ look good. Tom Branson stood before her in jeans and a gray suit jacket over a classic white button-down, worn without a tie in what was probably an attempt to be casual. In one hand he held a slightly battered suitcase, and in his other a bottle of water. Sybil's mouth dropped open for just a second before she caught herself, surprised and secretly delighted that the bedraggled writer she'd rear-ended in the rain 24 hours before could clean up so nicely now. She found her eyes roving over him more than they should have been, noticing how his shirt and jacket seemed to fit snugly in just the right places. He was a catch, really—much better than Larry had ever looked, if she was being totally honest with herself. It was his voice speaking to her that startled her out of her reverie, and she snapped her eyes back up to his face. "Sorry I'm late," he said softly in that Irish lilt of his. "For a while there I thought about just going to Hogwarts instead." At Sybil's blank look, he clarified. "Harry Potter. King's Cross, Platform 9 ¾, you know."

"I know," Sybil said quickly. "I know the _Harry Potter_ books. I'm a book editor, for god's sake." Neither of them had moved yet, and she was still staring at him. "I…I wasn't sure you'd come," she said somewhat breathlessly.

He gave a shrug, setting his suitcase down and taking a few steps towards her. "The bumper fell off my car this morning,'" he told her matter-of-factly. "Couldn't even drive it over here, had to take a cab. But I would have come anyway, don't worry." He smiled at her before, impulsively, leaning over to place a kiss on her cheek. His lips were soft against her skin, but Sybil stiffened in surprise anyway. He pulled back away from her with a grin. "Just getting used to it," he clarified as he sat down in the seat across from her. Sybil, after a moment, sat down too, although unlike him she could not bring herself to relax. While she sat ramrod-straight, he draped himself over the seat across and put his feet up onto the one next to her as if he were in his bed at home instead of on public transport. Sybil nudged his feet away. "No feet up," she scolded. "You're in public, for God's sake."

He promptly put them back up again, and she moved them once more back to the floor. He raised an eyebrow, smirking at her. "Someone's a bit nervous, eh, princess? Not having any second thoughts, are you?"

"I won't as long as you keep your feet where they belong," Sybil said pointedly. "You're not a child."

"What if I do it again?" he spoke up. "Are you going to turn this train around?" Tom's eyes sparkled with mirth at that, bringing his water bottle to his lips as the train began to pull out of the station. Sybil rolled her eyes and didn't answer him, not wanting to dignify that with a response. They sat in silence for a minute as Sybil rummaged through her purse and pulled out her phone. Not surprisingly, she had two new texts from Mary and one from her mother, not to mention a misspelled mess that could only be from her grandmother, who hadn't yet mastered the precise art of the cell phone. Sybil let the phone drop back into her bag, the texts unanswered for the moment.

The next thing she knew Tom was sliding into the seat next to her, so close their legs brushed. She could smell him, soap and a hint of cologne and something else that seemed entirely him, and her breath caught in her throat. She wasn't sure why she was so nervous around him, although it was probably due to how wrong this whole arrangement felt. Yes, she was just paying him to come along to the wedding with her, but it still felt dirty somehow. She glanced over at him, her eyebrows raised as if asking why he'd joined her.

"We should probably have a story," he said amiably.

"A story?"

He grinned again, and Sybil felt her knees go weak for just a moment even though she was seated. _Damn it, Sybil, keep it together here…this is a business transaction, nothing else. The fact that he's attractive is just…icing on the cake. But keep it professional, or I swear to God…_

"You know, a story. Every couple has a story, how they met and everything…I take it you don't want to tell them the truth."

Sybil thought about that a moment. "We can tell a _version_ of the truth," she said finally. "You're a writer and I'm an editor, there's nothing wrong with that. Most of them would probably think its cute. Um…" she bit her lip, thinking. "We met at a party—that part's true—and started dating…a month ago? Or is that too soon to bring someone to a wedding?"

"It's our story, love," Tom said gently, and Sybil almost jumped at the endearment. "It can be whatever we want it to be."

"F-fine," Sybil stammered. "A month…maybe a month and a half. Any longer and we'll get my family demanding to know why I didn't mention you sooner. That sound good?"

He shrugged. "You're the boss here, Sybil. If it sounds good to you, then that's fine. Now…about your family…maybe you should tell me a little bit about them. A crash course in the Crawley family, if you will, just so I know the basics."

Sybil tried to smile, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "Um…okay. My father's an earl, like I said…the Earl of Grantham. More or less just a title these days, but…anyway, he'll be there obviously, along with his sister, my Aunt Rosamund, and my grandmother. You'll want to avoid her if you can—I love her, I do, but she can be a bit…difficult to deal with. My mother is American—"

Now he looked interested, as if surprised that someone as seemingly English as her would have American blood. "American, really?"

"Yeah, born in Ohio—Cincinnati, I think—but she grew up in New York. Her family is very, very old and wealthy…" She ducked her head, not knowing why she found that embarrassing in front of him. "And then I've got two older sisters, Mary and Edith—Mary's the one getting married. She's been with Matthew forever, so it's about time, or so everyone's been saying. They're great together, though…Edith's been with her boyfriend, Anthony, for a while too. He's…" she trailed off, looking up at him hesitantly. "He's quite a bit older than she is, though, so try not to stare at them or anything. She's happy, and it's taken my family a long time to accept their relationship, so don't you go judging them and making things worse. Edith doesn't deserve that again."

"American mother, old money, don't mention the cradle-robbing boyfriend. I think I follow you so far, princess," Tom said with a smirk. Sybil kicked him. He didn't seem to notice.

"I'm not a princess, and Anthony is _not_ robbing the cradle," she said petulantly. She was starting to regret this already now that she knew he was apparently planning on pushing her buttons for the entirety of the weekend, but the train had already left King's Cross and she was stuck with him for better or worse. "Any more than you're a true published writer."

Tom chuckled, his hands coming up to his heart. "Oh, Sybil, you wound me. But tell me this, then. If you're not a princess—don't give me that look, I _know_ you're not, I'm just trying to have a bit of fun—then what are you? What exactly does one say when addressing an earl's daughter? It's a…a countess, right?"

Sybil allowed herself a tiny smile. "Close. My mother is the countess."

"Ah, of course. And you are….?" He grinned cheekily at her, clearly not ready to let this go until she gave him an answer. Once again, Sybil was wondering whether this whole mess was worth it. _I should have just mailed him a check for the car…_

Sybil shrugged. "They just call me Sybil. Technically my full title is Lady Sybil Patricia Crawley, but really that's just for show. Not even the servants call us by our titles anymore—not much, anyway. I'm just Sybil, and you can call my parents Robert and Cora if you want." She gave a wry smile. "Just one of the perks you get from dating me."

"Clearly," Tom replied, and Sybil found her smile widening in spite of herself. He asked about Edith and Anthony a bit more, and she did her best to warn him about the unspoken yet ongoing feud between her two grandmothers. As he had done on the way to the pub, Tom listened intently the whole time, only stopping her to clarify certain points. "Okay, how about your oldest sister, the one getting married? What's she like?"

"Mary's…well, she's Mary," Sybil said with a smile. "She's sort of our father's favorite. She's always been the most driven one of all of us, the most stubborn—although I can give her a run for her money when I feel like it. She's very proper, a bit of a perfectionist—okay, that's an understatement—and I know she loves Matthew more than anything."

Suddenly Sybil realized she had left out one rather crucial detail. "Oh…and by the way, the man she's marrying…Matthew. He's, well…don't freak out, but he's sort of our cousin…"

Tom, in the process of taking his last sip of water, choked again. "God!" Sybil cried out as she clapped him on the back. "Is this a habit of yours, doing spit-takes like this?"

"He's your _cousin?!"_

"He's our _fourth cousin_, once removed or something like that," Sybil corrected him, her tone sharp. "I'm fourth cousins with probably hundreds of other people. It's hardly related."

"I guess so," Tom said, but he did not seem convinced in the slightest. "But they're…they're happy, yeah? They're good together? How did they even start dating anyway? I mean, no offense, but…now _that's_ got to be a story."

Now Sybil smiled, finally settling herself against the seat as she allowed herself to relax. "It's a bit of a long one…"

* * *

All the way to Yorkshire she found herself telling Tom about her family, until finally her sleep deprivation caught up to her and she found herself dozing off on Tom's shoulder. The next thing she knew he was nudging her gently and telling her that they had arrived in York. While he began to collect their baggage, Sybil reached into her purse and grabbed her compact mirror, desperate to see what damage her nap had caused. There were faint purple circles under her eyes that could be easily dealt with, but her hair looked a fright, and she slumped down in her seat, mortified that he'd had to see her like this. "Great."

"You look fine, princess," came Tom's voice, and she looked up to see him smirking down at her. "Come on, let's get going. You said your da put aside a rental car for us, yeah? I'm guessing you're the one they need to sign for it, not me."

"Right," Sybil said, standing up so quickly she almost felt dizzy. She looked down at her rumpled black jeans and shirt and sighed. "One more thing," she said, throwing her purse over her shoulder. "We're going to have to find someplace to change."

* * *

For the second time in two days, Sybil found herself in a pub.

Tom had changed quickly, swapping out his jeans for a pair of slightly rumpled suit trousers and adding a pale blue tie to complete the look. He sat down at the bar amongst Sybil's many suitcases, occasionally reminding her of how much he hated suits as she tried on dress after dress, trying to figure out which was the best for the look she was trying to go for. Unfortunately, it was hard to find the perfect dress to say, "I have completely moved on with my life and look damn good doing it," and so she had tried on and modeled for Tom at least half a dozen different dresses so far. "How about this," she said, stepping out of the restroom again, this time in a blue strapless number with a full skirt. She did a little twirl, setting her hands on her hips as she waited for her "boyfriend" to give his opinion.

"Gorgeous," he said confidently.

Sybil regarded him for a minute. "Yeah, okay, but how gorgeous? Just normal gorgeous, or 'I was crazy to let you go' gorgeous?"

"If it helps, I'd shag you," said the man behind the bar, his tone suggesting that he truly thought his input was both valid and needed. Tom glowered at him, and the man shrank back. "I mean…if it's all right with you," he stammered, clearly thinking that was enough to dig himself out of the hole his words had just created. Tom thought otherwise, for the next thing Sybil knew his arm had come around her protectively.

"Bugger off," he told the bartender, who quickly disappeared back into the kitchens. He turned to Sybil triumphantly, pasting on a smile to hide what looked like genuine jealousy in his eyes. _Careful there, Tom Branson…this is a business transaction, nothing more._ "This one's my favorite," he said, gesturing to the dress she had on. "The black backless one was great too, but maybe that's more of an evening dress." He smirked at her when she realized he was parroting back to her the same thing she had told him when she'd tried on the dress a few minutes ago. "Seriously, Sybil, you look fantastic. He's going to be so sorry he lost you…but we have to get going or we're really going to be late. You ready?"

They gathered up their things and left the bar, retreating back to their rental car in order to drive the final half-hour to Downton Abbey. Sybil helped him throw their bags in the back before reaching for the keys, but Tom snatched them out of her hand before she could get behind the wheel. "Oh no you don't. I've had enough of your driving to last me a lifetime, after what you did to my baby"

"It's a car, not a baby."

"Matter of opinion, princess. I'll drive."

Sybil wasn't about to argue with him anymore, so she settled herself into the passenger seat and soon they were driving through the country along a route she had taken so many times in her life she was sure she could do it in her sleep. Soon she found herself drifting off again, taking care this time to not let her hair turn into the disaster of before. Tom only woke her when he needed directions, and before she knew it they were pulling up into the massive drive of Downton Abbey, packed to the brim with cars. Tom swore under his breath as he looked through the window at the sprawling estate. "You didn't tell me you lived in a palace."

"It's not a _palace_," Sybil protested. "I've seen much bigger."

"Yeah? Where, Windsor?"

"I've just seen bigger, okay?" she snapped, and Tom gave that infuriating smile of his, the kind that made it nearly impossible to be mad at him. "And don't park here, this is for guests that aren't staying the night. Go around to the garage. It's this way." He obediently followed her directions, and soon they found themselves pulling up beside Mary's car in the massive garage. Sybil got out first, stretching her tired legs. Tom got out as well, casting an admiring gaze at the other cars in the garage. He went around to the back to get their luggage, but Sybil stopped him. "Don't worry. I'll find William and he can take care of all that for us after the party is done."

"William? One of the servants?"

Sybil blushed, nodding, but Tom had already become distracted. "What's this?" he asked curiously, walking over to a car covered by a thick tarp to protect it from the elements

"That's the Renault," Sybil said, as if the answer should have been obvious to him.

"The Renault?" Tom repeated. He began to pull at the tarp, pulling it up and revealing thin, old-fashioned wheels straight up out of another time. His eyes widened and suddenly he threw the whole thing back, ignoring Sybil's cry telling him to be careful with it. Sybil almost had to smile as she watched him take in the sight that to her was as familiar as anything else in this garage. Tom, however, once again looked like Christmas had come early. "This…you have a vintage Renault? God, this has to be from…1915 at least!"

"1912, actually, and it's not mine. It's my father's. He has a bit of a thing for vintage cars. This one's been in the family since it rolled off the assembly line, but it was just gathering dust for years and years. A couple years ago, though, he had it completely restored, all new fixtures and everything but trying to stay as close to the original design as possible. It even runs now, he likes to take it out driving every so often…" She bit her lip to hide the smile that threatened to cross her face as Tom ran his hand over the hood of the car, so delicately it was as if he thought it might shatter if he touched it the wrong way. "Just be careful with it, he's a bit overprotective…kind of like you and your car." Tom still didn't answer her. "Maybe I can convince my father to let you take it out for a spin later," Sybil said mildly. "That is, if you promise to be gentle with it."

Tom whirled around to face her, the expression on his face like an eager child who has just discovered one more present on Christmas morning. "D'you mean it?" he asked, and Sybil couldn't help the smile that came over her face.

"Hey, it's like I said," she told him with a shrug. "Dating me has its perks." He grinned at that and crossed over to stand beside her, offering her his hand to take. She gazed at it a long moment, as if wondering if it was really a good idea before lacing her fingers through his. Her small hand somehow seemed to fit in his large one, almost perfectly it seemed, and once again she felt her breath catch in her throat. "Are—are you ready?" she asked awkwardly, but Tom only smiled and kissed her cheek again. _Just practicing,_ Sybil told herself. _That's all it is, just getting used to it…_

"I'm ready whenever you are, love. Let's go meet your family."


	4. Chapter 4

_I should have bought you flowers_

_And held your hand_

_Should have gave you all my hours when I had to chance_

_Take you to every party cause all you wanted to do was dance_

_Now my baby's dancing,_

_But she's dancing with another man_

-"When I Was Your Man" by Bruno Mars

* * *

Sybil's hand in Tom's grip was beginning to get sweaty, but every time she tried to pull away he would only hold on tighter. It was as if he knew somehow that she needed him close to her in order to not run back to the garage and hide away from her family until she absolutely had to emerge from her safe cocoon again. She hated him for it just a little, the way he seemed to know just how vulnerable she felt without her even having to open her mouth. When had she become that weak and easy to read? That wasn't the Sybil she knew, or else Tom Branson was just unnaturally perceptive. She caught his eye as they walked the endless path to the back of the house, where the party had been set up on the back lawn. Even from here Sybil could hear the faint sounds of familiar voices, glasses clinking together as they toasted the bride and groom and the faint _pop!_ as bottle after bottle of champagne and wine was opened. That was of course the one thing that Sybil was grateful for about this weekend—there was bound to be alcohol in spades.

Her heart was racing, thundering painfully against her ribcage, and the tight bodice of the blue dress Tom had described as "gorgeous" was quickly constricting her ability to breathe. Sybil wished she had gone with the black one instead, but now it was far too late to change. "I don't think I can do this…" she hissed to Tom, who squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"Yes you can, love," he said simply, as if there were no room for debate. At least he seemed to have dropped the princess bit for the moment. Sybil supposed she ought to be grateful for that, at the very least. "I know you can. Come on now…we've come all this way. It would be a shame to just give up now…"

Sybil shot him a dark look. "I've never given up on anything in my life," she said, her tone slightly offended.

Now he grinned, and once again Sybil felt her knees grow weak at the sight. _Damn it, Sybil! Don't get too attached!_ "I figured you'd say that," he said triumphantly. "Now let's meet this family of yours…"

By this time they had made their way to the back of the house to join the party. Several large white tents had been set up on the grounds, and people were milling about with drinks in their hands as they chatted and gossiped, catching up on news and reopening old wounds as they always did. Sybil spotted Mary and Matthew talking to their parents under one of the tents and pulled Tom along, wanting to reach them before someone spotted them, but they only managed a couple of steps before she was swept up into a hug. "Sybil!" a man cried, wrenching Sybil's hand out of Tom's grip as he crushed her in his embrace. For just a moment Sybil panicked, feeling lost and exposed without Tom as an anchor, but she told herself that he was still right behind her. "Your mother wasn't sure what time you'd be getting here! Oh, my dear, it's so good to see you again!"

She finally released her, and Sybil had to fight the urge to gasp for air. "Hey, Shrimpy. It's great to see you too. Where's Susan and Rose?"

As if on cue, Shrimpy's wife appeared behind him, looking sullen as always. "Hello, dear," she said, swirling her drink in her glass. "I haven't seen my daughter since we got here, actually, but I expect she's making full use of the bar. I trust you've been well?" Sybil opened her mouth to respond, but Susan plowed on as if she had not seen. "It's a lovely party, isn't it? Mary looks radiant, but we always knew she'd be the perfect picture of a bride…_and_ that she'd marry well, of course." Her shrewd eyes fixed upon Sybil, looking her up and down as if searching for scars on her arms or a look of despair in her eyes. "The fact that she's marrying first, though…_that_ I did not expect, not with the way she and Matthew have been dragging their feet for years. On again, off again—exhausting. This should have been _you_ getting married, Sybil dear, and everyone knows it. And to _think_ that that _dreadful_ Larry Grey is the best man…"

Sybil couldn't bear to hear another word. "Have you met Tom?" she asked with as much cheerfulness as she could muster, reaching back to grab hold of him again. "Tom, this is Susan and Shrimpy, cousins of my father. This is Tom Branson, my boyfriend." She tried to ignore the way her voice shook as she spoke the word, as if she were afraid that at any moment someone would see straight through the web of lies the two of them were spinning.

"Pleasure to meet you both," Tom said kindly, holding out a hand for them to shake.

Susan's eyes widened, but Shrimpy looked tickled. "Someone's brought home an Irish boy!" he cried, delighted. "Now _that_ I did not see coming! Charmed to meet you, Tom. What do you do?"

Sybil took a breath, but Tom cut her off before she could respond. "I'm a writer, sir. Been trying to get something through to Sybil's publishing company for ages, but they're tough critics over there, you see…"

"Ah, excellent! And how long have the two of you…well, been the two of you? Where did you meet?"

"Will you excuse us?" Sybil said quickly before Tom could improvise a story. The way she was feeling right now, that was the last thing they needed. Sybil wasn't much of an actress, not since she'd left school, but she had a feeling that Tom Branson would be the type to go off-script at every opportunity. "It's just I haven't seen my parents in ages, and I know they're dying to meet Tom…we can catch up later, all right? Excuse us." With that, she tugged Tom away, leaving her relatives staring and him chuckling in her wake. "This is a nightmare," she muttered under her breath, making a beeline for her sister.

"It's not that bad, Sybil," Tom protested good-naturedly. "But, I have to ask….Shrimpy?"

"It's a long story."

"Sybil…" Tom sighed, stopping in his tracks. Before Sybil could respond, he pulled her around to look at him. His arm came around her waist to anchor her there as she stared up at him, the entire party seeming to melt away around them. They were now standing closer than they had ever been, and she could see every individual eyelash, each fleck of color in his blue eyes. Her mouth was suddenly dry. "You need to relax," he said, his voice soft and tender in her ear. "Really. If you stop acting like we have something to hide, you'll feel a lot better, I promise. I know you're scared, Sybil, I do. But you don't need to be. This is your family, after all. They're not here to judge you—at least, they shouldn't be—and I'm certainly not either. You just need to calm down." He smiled at her and leaned down, his lips just brushing her forehead. With one single movement any hope Sybil might have had at some sort of anonymity for the next few minutes vanished, but she somehow found she didn't care. Her skin tingled where her lips had been as he pulled away, and she found herself wishing he would kiss her there again. "Can you do that for me?" he asked.

Wordlessly, she nodded.

"That's my girl," he said affectionately. He took hold of her hand again, squeezing it lightly. This time, Sybil squeezed back.

As it turned out, she only had a few seconds to recover before another familiar voice reached her ears, although this one was much more welcome. "There she is! My baby's here!" Cora Crawley exclaimed, trotting over to her youngest daughter. "You told me you'd call when you got to York, I was starting to get worried!"

"You worry too much, Cora," came the smooth voice of Sybil's American grandmother, Martha, who had fallen into stride behind her daughter as Cora embraced Sybil. The scent of her mother's perfume enveloped her, and Sybil allowed herself to relax in her arms for a second before Martha spoke again. "For all you know, they had a perfectly good reason for not calling you…pulling over for a quickie, maybe!" She threw Sybil a wink.

"Grandma!" Sybil cried, her cheeks flaming red as she let Cora go. "Grandma, please, this is not the time to…be yourself…"

Martha waved her comment away. "I'm an old woman, darling. We can say whatever we like and no one can judge us for it. Now, come over here and give your grandmother a hug while you explain who the very handsome stranger next to you is…" She turned to Sybil, who blushed.

"Hi," Tom said amiably. "I'm Tom…I'm the new guy."

Sybil watched as introductions were made, identical expressions on her mother's and grandmother's faces as they no doubt tried to figure out just why Sybil had made no mention of Tom before now. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Grantham—damn it, sorry, Crawley. Sybil schooled me on all the titles and etiquette stuff before we got here, but I've forgotten it already…"

"Cora's fine, Tom. Just Cora," came her mother's calm tone, and Sybil almost smiled. "We're happy to have you here."

Martha raised an eyebrow, one hand on her hip as she appraised the new arrival. "I just hope Sybil's adequately prepared you for what you're gonna face out here," she said bluntly. "Not just the scrutiny from the family, that's inevitable, but this entire weekend. This is a marathon, not a sprint, honey. We've got everything planned out by Mary and her meticulous wedding planner, right down to showers and meals it seems. Welcome cocktails today, Stags and Hens party tomorrow, then some sort of ridiculous picnic on Friday followed by the rehearsal dinner…I just hope our Sybil warned you what you're in for." She gave him a wink as well, and Tom smiled.

"I think I can handle it," he replied.

Sybil could only hope that he was right.

There was a tap at her shoulder, and she turned to see her father smiling at her, a mostly-empty glass of Scotch in his hand. "So this is where you've been hiding from me," he said quietly as Martha slipped away into the crowd. "I kept hearing that you were here, but no one knew exactly where…do I get a hug from my darling girl?"

The tiniest flicker of a smile crossed Sybil's face. "Of course." He hugged her close, and Sybil had to blink back tears. Her last conversation with her father had not ended on the best of terms. He had called about a month or so earlier to ask her to tell him the truth about what had happened between her and Larry, as if there was some secret fault of hers that had ended the relationship and that she had been trying to keep hidden. An explosive fight had ensued, after which Sybil had refused to speak to her father for weeks when her family would call or Skype. She had been worried that things would still be rocky between the two of them, but he seemed to have let it go for the moment, if only so that he wouldn't make a scene at Mary's wedding. "Papa, I have someone I'd like you to meet…this is Tom. My boyfriend…"

"Oh my God, Sybil!" came Mary's voice shouted across one of the tents. Now Sybil had to smile. It seemed the introductions were just beginning.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, all of the immediate Crawleys had been introduced to Sybil's "new friend," as her grandmother Violet called him. Tom and Matthew had apparenly hit it off straight away, talking as if they were old friends while Sybil and her sisters stood close by, catching up as Mary detailed what the next few days would hold for them all. Even Edith's boyfriend Anthony, usually more reserved around people he didn't know—Sybil lovingly referred to him as Edith's Mr. Darcy—seemed to be warming up around Tom. So far, everything was going smoothly, and Sybil sipped at her glass of white wine as she finally allowed herself to listen to Tom and relax. Perhaps this weekend wouldn't be a total disaster after all. In her own panic, she had nearly forgotten what the point of this whole trip was—to see her sister marry the love of her life. How bad could that be?

There was a crackle of static as someone pounded on a microphone, and all heads swiveled towards the biggest tent, where a makeshift stage had been set up. Martha tapped at the microphone as if testing it, and Violet stood ready at her side. Sybil's heart froze. "Oh sweet Jesus," she whispered. "Who let them near the bloody _microphone?"_

Tom only chuckled.

"Is this thing on?" Martha shouted in a voice that hardly made the microphone necessary. "Right then. I hope you all have a drink…"

Sybil wished she had a hundred.

"Because the two of us are going to say a few words!"

One embarrassingly long speech later—during which Martha only mentioned Sybil and Larry's disastrous breakup once, which was considered by all involved to be a miracle—Sybil managed to slip inside during the endless parade of toasts to Mary and Matthew that followed in order to use the bathroom and get a few minutes to herself. Despite all of the mortifying moments so far, Sybil had to admit that she was finally starting to enjoy herself, just as Tom seemed to have known she would. She left the restroom with a tiny smile on her face, intending to rejoin the party with her head held high, screw all of them who wanted to bring up Larry to her again…

"Sybil."

His voice stopped her in her tracks, her heart grinding to a stop. No, not here. Not now. He wasn't supposed to see her yet. He was supposed to glimpse her when she was with Tom, their arms around each other and laughing wildly at something he had said. The illusion she had built up in her mind of how this moment would pan out shattered instantly. He had taken her completely unawares, and the façade of strength that had been so strong a moment ago dropped like a ton of bricks. Slowly, she turned to look at him, bracing herself for what she might see—remorse? Regret? Dark circles under his eyes from sleepless nights just like she'd had, an apology on his lips, guilt in his eyes…or worse, triumph? A sense of victory that he had finally broken Sybil Crawley, as he had seemed so bent on doing the night he'd left her?

She held her breath as blue eyes met brown, darker even than Mary's. Sybil kept her distance, not allowing herself to be swept into those eyes again. She knew that once she was, there would be no way out. She forced herself to think of another pair of eyes instead…blue instead of brown, kind instead of haughty and distant like the eyes she had seen the night of their breakup…

"Hello, Larry," she whispered.

For a moment, she thought she did see a flicker of guilt in his eyes. He looked her up and down, his brow furrowing as if confused. "It's…it's good to see you, Sybil. You look…gorgeous," he said quietly, his eyes meeting hers once again.

"Thanks," she replied softly. "But it doesn't matter what I look like. It's Mary's weekend, not mine."

He took a step forward then as if to hug her. The tension was so thick it seemed to be choking her, and when Sybil heard Edith's voice from behind them she almost cried in relief. "There you are! Tom sent me to find you. Said something about wondering if the house was big enough for you to get lost in…" Her eyes landed on Larry, narrowing as they took in the sight of him. When she spoke again her tone was as cheerful as ever, but dripping in sarcasm as well. "Ah, so that's where you've been hiding. Hello there, arsehole."

Ordinarily, Sybil would have laughed. Instead, she felt a rush of affection for her older sister as she continued. "Listen, Larry, since you dumped my sister brutally and without cause, you won't mind if I just steal her from you, do you? Her _boyfriend,"_ she added, spitting the word at him as if it were venom, "sent me to bring her back."

Whatever Larry's reaction was to that comment, Sybil didn't get to see it. Edith seized her arm and pulled her away, back towards the party and the endless bottles of wine. "You didn't have to do that," she said lamely. "I…"

"I know, I know, you had it sorted," Edith said. "Listen to your older sister, Syb. I wasn't saving you from him, I was saving you from yourself. Forget about Larry, Sybil. Do it for me. He's not worth one more second of your time, I promise you. You've got a great guy out there waiting for you, someone who I can already tell is a hundred times the man Larry ever was. Come on. Let's go find him."

* * *

It seemed like ages since Tom had sent Edith off to rustle up Sybil. The other Crawleys had dispersed, off to catch up with various other family members and leaving Tom to his own devices. He glanced around and sipped his drink, feeling out of place amidst the aristocracy. His neck was staring to itch beneath the starched collar of his shirt, and he reached up to loosen his tie just as his elbow collided with someone passing by. "Sorry," he said quickly, looking at the poor soul he'd bumped into. It was another man in a suit, just like everyone at this party, with dark hair and eyes to match that looked like he'd had quite a bit to drink already. "You all right? I'm sorry, I didn't see you there."

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, his fingers slightly clumsy as he pulled one out and lit it. He offered the pack to Tom, who quickly declined and did his best to stand upwind of the smoke. He never could stand the stuff himself. "Quite all right," the other man said, sounding a bit nervous. He glanced up at Tom curiously as he pulled the cigarette from his lips. "Bride or groom? "

"Bride," Tom said in response. "Although I don't actually know her very well at all. You?"

"Bride too," said the other man. "Known them since I was a kid, actually. You could say we grew up together, the Crawley girls and I…their whole family, really…" His voice trailed off somewhat wistfully, and Tom found himself wondering just how much the poor sod had had to drink. "I wish I could say you're seeing the clan at their best."

Tom laughed at that. "I actually think this is rather tame. Isn't this the way all weddings are? Oh, yeah, it's two people making a lifetime commitment to each other, and that's nothing to laugh at, but for the rest of us, for the people who aren't the happy couple…every wedding blends together, really. Just an excuse for people to drink excessively, reminisce about things no one wants brought up, and say things you shouldn't."

"I'll drink to that," Tom's new acquaintance said, grabbing a flute of champagne from the tray of a nearby waiter and doing so. Tom, after a moment, brought his glass to his lips as well. "I'll tell you one thing, though…you're damn right. Weddings…they bring up so many memories, and most are ones that you never want to see again…" He trailed off, his eyes fixed across the lawn. Tom followed his gaze. He saw Cora and Violet talking to a girl he hadn't been introduced to yet, a young woman with curly blonde hair and a rather daring dress for a daytime cocktail party. She clutched the arm of a man who was quietly draining his own flute of champagne, sneaking glances at his watch when he thought his date wasn't looking. Nearby Edith and Anthony had joined up with Matthew and were talking animatedly about something that Tom couldn't hear, but whatever it was he was certain it would be better than listening to this drunk any longer. He was about to make an excuse to go over and join them when the man spoke again. "It's just that…God, I can't believe I'm telling _you_ this, of all people…there's this girl here. A girl that I care for…a great deal. You could even say that I love her…but of course she's here with some other guy, and I'm—"

"There you are," came Sybil's voice, and suddenly Tom felt a pair of lips on his.

* * *

It had to be the adrenaline. That, and alcohol, tried-and-true liquid courage that was making Sybil's impulses take control entirely. It was the only explanation for what she had just done. The moment Sybil had noticed Larry talking to Tom it was as if some other force was controlling her, propelling her across the lawn and to his side. She had put her arm around him and turned him to face her, not even stopping to give him the chance to breathe before she kissed him. He tasted of champagne and spearmint as she deepened the kiss, her tongue gently parting his lips. She was showing off, she knew it, but that same force that had brought her here in the first place was refusing to let her stop. She kissed him until her lungs sang for air, until her legs threatened to give way beneath her and her heart was racing so much she felt it was in danger of flying right out of her chest. To her surprise, after a moment of shock he had recovered and kissed her with equal vigor, his hand coming up to rest between her shoulder blades while his other held his drink. She felt a little thrill go through her, deciding that, no matter what else she might say about Tom Branson, it could never be said that he didn't know how to kiss a girl properly. When Sybil finally pulled away, it felt like too soon. "I've been looking all over for you," she told him as she opened her eyes again. " Biting her lip to keep the smirk off her face, she turned to Larry. "I see you've met my ex."

Next to her, Tom stiffened, his arm coming around her waist and pulling her to his side. "Yep, sure have," he said, his voice colder than before. "He was just leaving, though, weren't you, Larry?" His words were not a question, but a thinly veiled threat. Sybil licked her lips nervously, still tasting him.

"Weren't you?" Tom repeated. Larry nodded, mumbling something about needing to say hello to Rose anyway. Tom raised his glass to him as he fled. Sybil couldn't help but notice the triumphant look on his face as he watched him go. "See you later, Larry," he called out after him. "Looking forward to it."

Sybil watched him go as well, shaking her head. "Wow, you really scared him off. What were you talking to Larry about?"

"Does it matter?" Tom said with a shrug, draining the rest of his glass. "He's gone. I thought it was what you wanted."

"Come on, Tom, tell me."

"Well…" Tom began, biting his lip. "I mean…he's pretty drunk, Sybil, but.."

"But what?"

He sighed. "But it seems like he might be still crazy about you."

Tom looked down into his glass, refusing to meet her eyes.

Sybil's heart turned over. "You don't think he wants me back?" she whispered.

Tom's tone was unreadable. "Do you want him to want you back?"

She swallowed, another lump beginning to form in her throat. "I…I don't know," she whispered.

For a moment, Tom looked like he wanted to say something. He turned to Sybil, his eyes automatically flickering down to her lips. "Good," he said finally before leaning down to press the tiniest of kisses to them, even though Sybil was fairly certain they were no longer being watched. "Come on. I want my girlfriend to show me off to her family some more."

She stared at him for a moment before a slow smile crept over her face. "I think I can manage that." She took his hand and began to lead him towards Matthew and the others, placing their empty glasses on a tray as they passed.

"Oh, and Sybil?"

"Yeah?"

"Next time I see that damn Larry Grey, remind me to kill him."


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey everybody! Thanks so much for all of your awesome feedback! I IMMENSELY enjoyed writing this chapter-you'll soon see why-and I hope that you enjoy reading it just as much! ;)**

* * *

_But she's touching his chest __n__ow, _

_He takes off her dress now__  
__Let me go_

_I just can't look its killing me__  
__And taking control__  
__Jealousy, turning saints into the sea__  
__Swimming through sick lullabies__  
__Choking on your alibis__  
__But it's just the price I pay_

_Destiny is calling me_

-"Mr. Brightside" by The Killers

* * *

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what he gets for not taking dance lessons until the day before the wedding!" Mary was saying as Sybil and Tom joined their little group. The others broke into laughter at the sheepish look on Matthew's face, but Tom simply looked confused. "Whoever heard of dance lessons for a wedding?" he asked.

This only prompted more laughter. "Pretty much everyone, Tom," Mary said between giggles, but Matthew clapped Tom on the shoulder as a waiter came by with another tray of drinks. Sybil took a glass of gin without looking up, bringing it to her lips just as she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to see who it was, and her eyes lit up. "William!"

He grinned at her, balancing the tray of drinks precariously in one hand. "I wanted to say hello before they drag you off to do wedding things the whole weekend and I didn't have a chance. How've you been?"

"Better," Sybil said, surprised to find that she was actually telling the truth. Maybe having Tom along was good for more than just showing off. "Really, much better. And yourself? Have things been absolutely mad around here lately?"

William shifted his tray and grinned as the others continued to go on about dance lessons. "No more than usual, really, but we're in the final days so I know it's bound to get worse. I'm really glad you could make it, Sybil…" Suddenly he blushed, looking down as if embarrassed to meet her eyes. "Erm, Sybil, do you know if…if…"

Sybil smiled knowingly at him. "You're asking me if Daisy's coming to the wedding?"

Caught, William's face grew even more crimson. "I, well…yeah…" He tried to stammer out a more eloquent response, but Sybil held up a hand to stop him.

"Yeah, she's coming, William, don't worry. She's got some stuff to finish at work still, but she told me she's taking the train in on Friday so she'll be here in time for the rehearsal dinner…" She took a sip of gin and affixed him with a long look. "Are you finally going to tell her how you feel this time?" she asked, only half-teasing.

William opened his mouth to speak but was saved from having to answer by someone flagging William down for another drink. Sybil chuckled as he fled from her as fast as he could without spilling his tray before turning back to the group, wishing for all their sakes that poor William could just pluck up the courage to admit his feelings to Daisy.

The others were still rambling on about dance lessons. "Well, if you want, Sybil and I will go with you," Tom volunteered as Sybil took another sip of gin. She nearly choked on it, about to protest, but one look at Mary's delighted face stopped her. This wasn't her weekend, she had to keep reminding herself. This was for her sister, and if keeping Mary happy meant going to a wedding dance lesson, then she was going to do it. God knows Mary would do the same for her—at least, Sybil hoped. Besides…it might be fun.

"This man is my hero," Matthew announced just as another joined their group. Sybil felt a kiss on her cheek and suddenly a familiar hand was taking her glass away, bringing it to a pair of lips so red it was almost blinding. "Can I have that?" came a voice, not waiting for an answer before Sybil's glass was drained.

Sybil gaped. "Um…sure, Rose."

Her younger cousin Rose giggled at her, clearly drunk nearly out of her mind. The others seemed to stiffen, and Sybil was sure she saw Edith give their cousin a dark look. "Thanks, cuz," Rose slurred, giving Sybil a smile that she tried to return. "And who's this handsome hunk?" she asked, ogling Tom as her gaze landed on him.

Tom's arm came around her waist, pulling her closer to him, and Sybil rested a hand on his chest. "Tom, this is my cousin, Rose MacClare—she's Susan and Shrimpy's daughter. Rose, this is my boyfriend, Tom Branson."

"Pleasure to meet you," Tom said politely while Rose dissolved into a fit of giggles.

"Oh my God, Sybbie! He's _Irish!"_ she crowed, loud enough that several people swiveled their heads towards them. "Oh, your parents must have thrown a _fit_ when they found out! Gosh, Syb, how brave are _you?_ I'd never be able to do that, not ever…"

"No, you just bring a _married man_ as your date to _my_ wedding," Mary said coldly before taking a sip of her wine.

Rose stomped her foot, as if she were three years old again and had caught Mary playing with one of her dolls. "He is not _married,"_ she protested. "They're _separated._ It's not going to wreck your precious wedding having him here. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go get another drink…"

"I think you've had enough, Rose," Matthew said tentatively, but Rose was already calling William's name as she disappeared into the crowd. Everyone besides Sybil and Tom shifted uncomfortably as she left, and Sybil's brow furrowed. "Someone want to explain to me what that was about?" she asked.

No one answered her.

* * *

Several hours and far too many drinks later, the party had finally broken up. Sybil and Tom were bringing their luggage up to Sybil's bedroom, having insisted on giving the servants a break after the chaos of the party, while Robert and Cora trailed behind. "It's so nice to have you here, Tom," Cora said the moment they reached the landing and the bags had been placed safely onto the floor. "Although, to be honest, we didn't even know you existed. I can't imagine why Sybil would want to hide you from us…come on, honey, why the big secret?"

"Oh, I'm sure she was just waiting for the right time," Tom said heroically, saving Sybil from having to come up with yet another lie. If she told any more, she was half-convinced her nose was going to start growing.

Sybil cleared her throat, and suddenly all eyes were on her. "Where's Tom going to be sleeping?" she asked pointedly. Tom gave her a quizzical look, and she quickly explained. In truth, she had never felt more grateful for her mother's archaic rule than right now. "My parents are a bit old-fashioned about this sort of thing. They have this thing about couples sharing a bedroom under their roof when there's no ring involved, they—"

"Don't be silly!" Cora said breezily, waving off her daughter's comment. Sybil's heart thudded to a stop. With eyes as wide as saucers she turned to her mother, who just smiled at her as if she thought she had done her a favor. Next to her, Robert's eyes nearly bugged out of his skull, apparently as shocked as Sybil was at this new turn of events.

"What?" Sybil and Robert demanded in unison.

Cora rolled her eyes good-naturedly at her husband and daughter. "We are not as provincial as Sybil here seems to think we are, Tom, I promise. That _used_ to be our house rule, but the girls put up such a fuss about it I finally just gave in. I mean, look at Matthew and Mary—can you _imagine_ them letting anyone try to stop them from spending their nights together? I'm already dreading having to break them up the night before the wedding…" She gave them a little wink, and Sybil bit her lip to keep from groaning in exasperation. "We'll see you kids at dinner!"

"He seems nice," Cora remarked as they made their way back down the stairs. Her husband grunted in response. "What?" she demanded, glancing back at him. "You don't like Tom?"

"I never said that, Cora," Robert protested. "I…I don't _dislike_ him, it's just…I'm not sure he's quite right for Sybil."

"What's the matter with him? He seems like a great guy for her. He's friendly, polite; he's getting along with everybody…what's wrong with him? What could he have possibly done already that's making you act this way?"

Robert thought for a moment, trying to come up with an answer that wouldn't get him scolded or swatted at by his wife. "Well, first of all, they don't seem to have much in common," he said as the two of them journeyed to the drawing room.

Cora laughed, clearly not accepting that as a valid argument. "He's a writer and she's an editor. Based on that alone I'd say they have more in common than we had when we met."

Robert ignored that last comment. "Well, yes, he's a writer, but he's an _unpublished_ writer. Sybil's company keeps rejecting him, in case you missed that remark. I think—"

"Are we talking about the Irishman?" Violet said quickly as the two of them joined the rest of the family in the drawing room. "Thank heaven, I thought we'd never start. I for one was shocked when Sybil introduced us…"

"See?" Robert cried out, gesturing to his mother in solidarity. "I'm not the only one that sees it, Cora. Something isn't quite right here. For another thing, there's the fact that he's Irish—"

"Oh, Papa, not that again!" Mary whined from her perch on the arm of Matthew's chair, his arm entwined loosely around her waist.

"Well you know what they say about the Irish—"

"No, I don't," Cora said drily as she lowered herself onto the couch. "Enlighten me."

"Aside from that, there's the fact that none of us even knew she was seeing someone," Violet chimed in before Robert had to come up with an answer himself. "Mary, Edith, did either of you know that this Tom Branson even existed? She's been hiding him from us, and God only knows the reason."

"Well, it might be because she wanted to avoid all of this," Matthew said under his breath.

Violet was still speaking, having either not heard Matthew or choosing to ignore him altogether. "We don't know anything about this Branson of hers. Where is he from? What sort of family does he have? At least with Matthew and Anthony—and yes, even that dreadful mess with Larry Grey—we _knew_ them. We knew exactly what sort of background and upbringing they came from. I don't like not knowing just what sort of person my granddaughter has chosen to get involved with. Bringing a complete stranger to Mary's wedding like this—what was she thinking?"

Mary sighed heavily and stood up. "I don't know what she was thinking, but do you want to know what _I _think, Granny?" she asked, making them all turn to look at her. "I think that whoever Tom Branson is, he's made Sybil happier than I've seen her in months. She's _happy,_ Granny, can't you see that? That should be enough, don't you think? Sybil's happy, and that's all that matters." She took Matthew's hand, leading him out of the room. "You all should be ashamed of yourselves."

* * *

They dragged their things into Sybil's childhood bedroom, and Sybil kept her head down so that Tom wouldn't see the blush creeping across her cheeks. Sharing a room with Tom had never been in her plans, and now her four-poster bed looked woefully small, far too small to accommodate the two of them unless they—Oh God, was she actually imagining snuggling up with Tom Branson? Suddenly she wanted to bury herself beneath the covers and never emerge again. _I'll have to build a barricade to keep us apart…yeah, because that won't be weird at all. God, what was I thinking bringing him here?!_

Tom, however, was feeling none of Sybil's discomfort. He had immediately discarded his jacket and tie, throwing them onto the bed as if he couldn't stand one more minute in them, and was busy exploring Sybil's room. He turned slowly, taking in the sight of the few stuffed animals he saw seated on the plush window seat and examining the shelf of DVDs above the desk. He grinned suddenly. "_Aladdin?"_ he asked curiously, pulling the DVD from the shelf and waving it at her.

Sybil's cheeks burned. "Put that back," she ordered.

"What? Nothing to be embarrassed about, love. It's a good movie. Magic carpets, Robin Williams…"

"I just liked it when I was a kid, okay?" Sybil snapped, cutting him off. "Now can you please put it back?"

He obeyed her, sliding the disc back into its spot on the shelf and raising his hands as if in surrender. Sybil retreated to the bathroom to take off her makeup, keeping the door open in case Tom still wanted to talk, and Tom continued his inspection of the room. Sybil heard the wardrobe door creak open, and her breath stuttered when Tom began to chuckle. She whipped her head around to see Tom holding a rather familiar outfit of hers, sky-blue harem pants that she would recognize anywhere. "Only liked it when you were a kid, huh, Jasmine?" he teased.

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Put that back. What, like you never dressed up for Halloween?"

"Actually, Halloween is one of my favorite holidays," he fired back, always ready to go toe-to-toe with her temper it seemed. "Won best costume once at a party I went to at uni. I went as the portrait of Dorian Gray."

Sybil's eyebrows arched, unable to hide the fact that he had impressed her slightly. "Really?"

"Sure did. Although, in retrospect, I probably should have thought it through a little more. Carrying around that picture frame all night was hell."

Now Sybil had to chuckle, shaking her head as she turned back to wash her face. "So, um…I guess we'll be sharing the bed tonight," she asked awkwardly after a moment.

"Yep," Tom responded, still sounding amused as he hung Sybil's costume back in the wardrobe. Unzipping his suitcase, he began to hang up the rest of the clothes he had brought for the weekend, hoping that they hadn't gotten too wrinkled on the journey over. He glanced from his one piece of luggage to Sybil's many suitcases scattered across the room and shook his head, chuckling. His task completed, he began to unbutton his shirt, intending on taking a shower before dinner. "I don't mind if you don't, but if you want to…you know, be intimate, I suggest we talk money beforehand," he said as he shrugged out of his dress shirt and discarded it onto the bed. "I don't want you to be expecting anything for free."

He heard a clatter as Sybil's bottle of face wash fell out of her hands, and the next thing he knew a pair of eyes wide as saucers were staring at him from the doorway. _We are gonna have to work on her sense of humor…_

"What?!" Sybil demanded in shock, feeling as if her eyes might pop out of her head. It was then that she noticed that Tom was no longer wearing a shirt, and for a moment her eyes were locked onto his torso, tracing the muscles of his chest and abs. Damn, he looked good, and the worst part about it was that he knew it, too. "I…what?!"

"It was a joke, Sybil," Tom said gently. "You need to lighten up. We talked about that, love, remember?"

She was still too shocked to even register that he had called her love once again, even though there was no need to keep up the pretense of their relationship right now. "Then…why are you standing in my bedroom half-naked?"

"I was hoping I could take a shower. If you'll let me. Are you finished in there?" His tone was polite, but his kindness only made Sybil blush more at her mistake. "Look, I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable. I just thought you could use a good laugh…"

"No, it's fine," Sybil said quickly, hating herself for how breathless her voice sounded. "I'm…I'm finished in here, it's all yours. Do you want me to…step out for a minute, give you some…privacy?"

Tom shrugged. "I don't mind if you don't. I was actually hoping we could talk a bit…" Sybil went to sit on the bed as Tom's hands went to the button on his trousers, clearly not caring that he was basically undressing right in front of her. Sybil tried not to stare at his every movement as he retreated into the bathroom, stepping out of his suit pants and letting them fall to the floor as he turned on the hot water clad in just his boxers. "You can take a look if you like," he called out over the sound of the running water. "Might as well see what you're paying so much for." This time Sybil could hear the teasing air in his voice, but that didn't stop her heart from speeding up a little more at the thought.

In the next second the boxers went down too, and Sybil turned away quickly before she could see anything as Tom stepped into the shower.

_Oh my God…_

It was silent for a while as Sybil rummaged around her purse, trying to find the printouts of his column that she had tracked down last night. He had said he wanted to talk…perhaps talking about work would be the best way to break the ice. At least there was common ground there…

"Damn it. Sybil, can you please hand me my shampoo? It's in the front pocket," Tom called out. Sybil nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Um…" she muttered, searching through the bag. "Got it!" Her fingers closed tightly around the little bottle as she crossed into the bathroom, her eyes trained on the floor. His arm came out from behind the shower curtain (which, Sybil was quickly realizing, was a bit too sheer for her liking), and Sybil passed him the bottle. Their fingertips brushed, and she felt her breath catch in her throat.

"Thanks," Tom said softly before his arm retreated back into the shower.

_Idiot, idiot, idiot!_ Sybil rebuked herself as she tiptoed back into her room. She heard the cap of the bottle open and a whiff of Tom's shampoo wafted towards her nose, and then he began to sing.

"_I can show you the world,_

_Shining, shimmering, splendid._

_Tell me, princess, now when did you last let your heart decide?"_

He had a nice voice, not like one that had been trained by a professional but a smooth, light, controlled one nonetheless, and Sybil couldn't help but smile. "You know _Aladdin?_ I mean, you know the songs?"

Tom peered out from the shower curtain, a rich lather worked through his hair. "I've got little sisters," he explained. "The youngest one is twenty-two now, so she was the perfect age when _Aladdin_ came out…it was one of her favorites."

"Mine too," Sybil admitted. "I always thought I could relate to Jasmine, how she wanted to make her own choices and all…"

"I can see that," Tom said quietly before he disappeared behind the curtain again.

There was another pause, during which she could still hear Tom humming softly over the sound of the shower running. Finally, after finding the printouts in her bag, Sybil crept into the bathroom, sitting down on the closed lid of the toilet. "So…I did a little digging last night and I managed to find the newspaper you write for. You're…you're really good, Tom. Better than I thought you'd be…" She realized what she'd said and winced. "I didn't mean it like that. I mean…you're very eloquent, and you write about so many different things…"

"Yeah, I do opinion pieces mostly—it's not much, but it means I get to write about a broader range of topics so I can cover a little bit of everything. I do book reviews, films, current events, politics…oh, and once a week I have to do advice. Editor's orders. Although I can't say I'm in any way qualified to be dispensing advice to real people." He chuckled. "If it's something that really gets me stumped, I call my Mam and see what she has to say about it. Really, nine times out of ten it's her giving the advice, not me. I really ought to give her a pay cut one of these days."

"Are you close with your mother?"

"Yeah, I'd say so. It's harder with me being over here and the rest of them back in Dublin, but we stay in touch. I call them every other day or so, when I can. It's hard though…I miss them."

"I'm sure they're proud of you," Sybil said gently, looking down to the printouts in her hands as the water was shut off. "Tell me this, then. This advice column here, did your mum come up with this for you?"

"Which one?" Tom said as he pulled the curtain open and stepped out of the shower. Sybil immediately turned so her back was to him, her cheeks flaming red yet again.

"This one here. It's from about a year ago. You say, and I quote, 'everyone in the world has the exact love life that they want'. Now, don't you think that's a bit of a broad generalizatio—OH!"

She had turned around at exactly the wrong time. Tom stood before her toweling off his hair completely naked. Sybil wasn't sure if he was trying to show off or whether he simply had underestimated how mortified this would make her. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth as her gaze dropped downwards of its own accord, a little squeak escaping her throat. He, infuriatingly, made no move to cover himself. Sybil stared, unable to look away and trying to ignore her racing heart. "Oh," she repeated. "Oh…"

He moved then, still toweling himself off, and the spell was thankfully broken. She turned around again, squeezing her eyes shut as if that would erase the image of his naked body from her brain, but if anything that only made her think about it more. "Do you honestly think that I want this?" she hissed. Do you really think that..that I _want_ to be single and miserable, still hung up on a guy who I thought I loved but just lead me on for years, and then out of the blue shattered my heart?"

"Yes," Tom said simply.

Sybil whirled around, no longer caring that he was still naked before her. Now her eyes were locked onto his own in disbelief, her temper flaring. "What?"

"Well, maybe not consciously," Tom amended, finally wrapping the towel around his waist. "But on some level, yeah. It's the same basic principle as my experience with uni. I got into my first choice school and absolutely hated it. I was doing well in my classes, but I wasn't enjoying myself at all, so I transferred. But the same thing happened there too, until I realized that it was because I wasn't putting any effort in to have a good time. I thought that all the things you go to uni to do, make friends and connections and all that, would just happen without me actually having to do anything. On some level, I wasn't really ready for uni and was afraid to reach out, and it showed. So I changed my attitude. It's the same thing with you, Sybil, to an extent. You're not ready to let go of Larry just yet—" was it her imagination, or did his tone harden just a bit when he said that, becoming more bitter?"—so you haven't. But when you are ready to let go, to be…un-single and un-miserable and finally let someone else in again, you will." He grinned suddenly at her, crossing back into the bedroom to get dressed. "Trust me on this, love. You will."

Sybil was left staring at him as he walked away.


	6. Chapter 6

_I don't know but I think I may be falling for you_

_Dropping so quickly_

_Maybe I should keep this to myself_

_Wait until I know you better_

-"Falling for You" by Colbie Caillat

* * *

By the time Sybil had recovered from what Tom had just told her—and the eyeful she had gotten that left absolutely nothing to the imagination—it was just about time for dinner. She had quickly changed into a more casual sundress before she and Tom had gone down to meet the rest of the family, where they were informed that Larry had already gone home for the night and would not be returning until tomorrow's festivities. Sybil noticed that Tom immediately smiled at the news, but she couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that they wouldn't be able to show off again as they had done during the cocktail party. Just seeing Larry's shocked face after she'd snogged Tom made every penny she was paying the Irishman absolutely worth it…not to mention that the kiss had made her go weak in the knees in a way that she had not experienced in ages…she smiled to herself as she brought her wine to her lips, licking them absently as if she could still taste him on her skin…

Rose and her parents were conspicuously absent as well, and no one seemed willing to offer any explanation for their absence, although Sybil had thought she heard the sound of raised voices coming from the guest wing as she and Tom had descended the main staircase. When she asked about it, Mary gave a vague answer about the three of them having a row over Rose's chosen date to the wedding, the supposedly married man Sybil had yet to meet, and quickly changed the subject. They sat down to dinner and the conversation immediately turned to the wedding, with Cora coyly asking what the plans were for the stag and hen parties were the next evening and Violet chiming in to inquire whether Mary had gone with the "dreadful lavender" bridesmaid dresses or taken her suggestion instead. Matthew, eager to be included, mentioned that he and Larry thought that it might be fun for them to spend tomorrow morning outdoors in the sunshine, to give everyone a chance to enjoy themselves and get to know each other. For the first time since her kiss with Tom, Sybil finally allowed herself to relax, sipping her wine as the others chatted around her and feeling grateful that the focus of the conversation was no longer on her and her fake boyfriend…

"What do you mean, you don't play cricket?"

Robert's voice rang throughout the dining room incredulously, making Sybil jump and shoot him a dark look. She had thought that her father would accept Tom with the same begrudging way he had accepted Anthony, especially since everyone else in the family had seemed to taken with him, but as dinner had progressed it seemed that everything Tom said just made Robert more suspicious of them. Everyone else was willing to welcome Tom into the family for the weekend, noting how happy Sybil seemed with him—she supposed the two of them should be grateful that their act was so convincing—but Robert seemed bent on disliking him. The news that Tom had never played cricket before, divulged when Matthew announced that, at Larry's suggestion of course, there was to be a match the next morning between members of the wedding party to pass the time before the stag and hen parties, seemed to be the final straw for Robert Crawley. It was becoming increasingly clear to him that this Tom, whoever he was—his daughter was still being frustratingly vague on the details—came from an entirely different world as the rest of them. "Everyone's played cricket," he continued between bites, as if Tom's protests were entirely ludicrous. "You didn't even play it at all in school?"

"Papa, please," Sybil protested, giving him another look from above the rim of her wine glass. "Not everyone's played cricket—and not everyone who's played it automatically has to like it. If anyone remembers, _I_ hate cricket…maybe I'll just sit in the shade and watch the rest of you make fools of yourselves."

"Oh, come on, Syb," Matthew pleaded across the table at her. "They'll be uneven teams if you don't…it'll be fun, Sybil, don't worry." Mary gave him a look, and he quickly added, "I'll make sure to put you and Larry on opposing teams so you can get the satisfaction of seeing him lose miserably."

"I'll drink to that," Mary said quickly, raising her glass. Next to her, Edith tried to hide the anger flashing in her eyes at the mention of Larry's name, and Anthony gave an uncomfortable cough that made Sybil frown. Sometimes, she had to wonder if her family was angry at Larry simply on principle, or…_Do they know something I don't? No, they'd tell me if they did…I know they would._

"It'll be fun, Sybil, I promise. It's just for a few hours, anyway and then we'll have the hen party," Mary was saying, giving her future husband a wink over her shoulder. Sybil tried to smile at the two of them as they looked at her expectantly

"Honestly, I've never touched a cricket bat in my life. I wouldn't know the first thing about it. I mean, I know a bit of baseball…" Tom began hesitantly, remembering when a visiting cousin of a friend had taught the kids in his neighborhood one summer when he was growing up. It had been years ago, but surely he remembered some of it…

"Ah, a boy after my own heart," Martha said with an approving smile. "Trust me, cricket's no different…except the bats are different and the game can go on forever…oh, and you can't get a decent hot dog at any cricket match I've ever been to. Give me my New York Yankees any day. Cricket puts me to sleep."

"No, no, it's fun!" Matthew protested before Robert could correct his mother-in-law by explaining to her each and every virtue of the game of cricket. "Really, Tom, you'll like it. It's just a bit of friendly competition, a way for everyone to bond before we go out and get too drunk to even remember each other's names." That prompted chuckles from the others seated around the table, and Matthew smiled hopefully at the Irishman. Sybil was about to become his sister-in-law, and Tom was part of Sybil's life. Matthew wanted to get to know him better, befriend the person who seemed to have finally brought Sybil out of that dark place she had retreated to after Larry broke things off with her. Anyone who could do that, Matthew reasoned, was surely deserving of not just his friendship but the rest of them as well. Playing cricket together, he hoped, could be a start to that friendship.

Tom glanced around the table, at all the faces looking at him expectantly as they awaited his answer. Finally, he smiled too. "All right, why not?" he said, giving a little shrug. "I'll give it my best shot. But you lot have to promise not to take the mickey out of me too much when I screw it up."

That made them all laugh, and even Sybil cracked a smile. "We promise," Matthew said between chuckles, clapping Tom on the shoulder.

"Right then," Violet said briskly, clearly considering the subject closed. "Now, onto more pressing matters…Mary, dear, about those bridesmaid dresses…"

* * *

After dinner, Tom had gone up to bed first, leaving Sybil to chat with her mother for a few minutes. Cora had embraced her youngest daughter fondly, silently thanking Tom for bringing back the Sybil that she knew and loved. "It's so good to see you finally happy again, my darling," she had whispered in Sybil's ear, and Sybil had felt a twinge of guilt for deceiving them all like this. When she opened the door to her bedroom she found Tom already in bed, propped up among the pillows with a book in his lap. He smiled at her as she entered, and she tried not to stare at the fact that he was once again without his shirt.

She failed miserably, gaping at him. How could he possibly look that good after a day full of travel, judgment, and near-interrogations from her family? It hardly seemed fair, or even possible. He seemed content to let her stare, waiting for her to speak first. Sometimes, Sybil wasn't sure whether she wanted to slap him for being so damn full of himself...or if she wanted to kiss him.

Eventually, she found her voice as she tried to force her face into a stern expression. "You had better be wearing clothes under there, if we're expected to be sharing _my_ bed," she accused.

He chuckled and stuck one leg out from under the covers, revealing a pair of light blue pajama bottoms. Sybil breathed a sigh of what she hoped was relief rather than disappointment. "Good," she said, a tiny smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I'm going to get ready for bed."

Tom pointed to the foot of the bed, smirking gleefully at her. "I've already laid something out for you." Sybil followed his gaze to see her Jasmine costume laid out on the bed, and her face reddened. "Come on! Just try it on for me. It'll take a minute. I want to see if you make as good a Jasmine as I think you will. Come on...please?"

In spite of herself, Sybil found herself smiling again. "I'm already paying you over a thousand pounds to be here. I'm not sure I need to give you anything more than that this weekend. Put it back, Tom, I'm exhausted and I want to go to bed."

"Awwww, come on, Sybil!" Tom whined playfully. "Just humor me, will you? You can change in the bathroom, I won't peek, I promise."

"You'd better not!" Sybil cried out, feeling affronted.

He looked hopeful. "So does that mean you'll do it? Come on, I know you want to...it's just a Halloween costume, just like you said. Please?" He pushed the covers back and sat up a bit, coming to stand on his knees on the bed before her. "For me?"

Sybil laughed and shook her head, picking up the costume to put it away. "Maybe later."

"Is that a promise?"

Sybil opened her mouth to retort just as there was a knock at the door. "Sybil, hon!" came Martha's singsong voice. "I needed to ask you something. Can I come in? Is everybody decent?"

Before Sybil even had the chance to answer her, the door opened. "Sorry to bother you, sweetie, but I was wondering if you had any earplugs in here. Your mom went and put me in the room next to Susan and Shrimpy, and if my memory of the man serves, he snores loud enough to wake the dead—" She stopped short in the doorway, her keen eyes widening as she took in the sight of the two of them, Tom kneeling on the bed as Sybil held her Jasmine costume at arm's length. "Ooooh, am I interrupting something?" she asked, rather gleefully in Sybil's opinion. "Sybil, dear, didn't anyone ever teach you to hang a tie on the doorknob?"

Horrified, Sybil looked from Tom on the bed to the costume in her hands as her face turned beet red. "No, Grandma, this isn't what it looks like…"

"I'll just go see if your mom has any earplugs to spare," Martha said conversationally, as if Sybil had not spoken. She backed out, closing the door behind her as she chuckled conspiratorially to herself. "Have fun, kids!" her voice sang out.

Still blushing crimson, Sybil groaned, wanting to crawl under the bed and hide. Tom laughed at her. "It's not funny!" she cried out. "You _do_ realize that my grandmother is walking away from here thinking that we're up here doing some…some crazy kinky _Aladdin_ roleplay?" That only made him laugh more. "Stop laughing at me, Tom Branson! This isn't funny!"

"Whatever you say, Jasmine."

Sybil rolled her eyes and stomped over to the wardrobe, hanging the costume up before grabbing a pair of pajamas and slamming it shut. She retreated to the bathroom, changing quickly and brushing her teeth as she tried to wipe the last five minutes from her memory. She could only hope that Martha didn't mention this to anyone. Having Tom tease her about it was bad enough, but if the others found out…She would never hear the end of it.

When she emerged , ready for bed in a tank top and purple pajama bottoms, Tom had abandoned his novel and was now busy scribbling in a moleskine notebook. Sybil regarded him curiously, trying to quell the nervous churning in her stomach as she remembered that they would be sharing the bed for the entirety of the weekend. She swallowed, her throat having gone suddenly dry at the sight of him waiting there for her. "I-Is that your book that you're working on?" Sybil asked as she crossed the room to him.

He looked up at her and smiled before shaking his head. "No, I'm afraid not. Just a journal."

Sybil arched an eyebrow at him, a smirk gracing her features. "Oh really?" she asked. "Tom Branson keeps a diary?"

He closed the notebook with a grin, slipping it back into his bag. "What, are you saying you never did? I'm sure if I did a little searching I'd find more than a few diaries chronicling the life of _Lady_ Sybil Crawley."

Rather than telling him that he was right, Sybil crept back to the wardrobe, standing on her tiptoes to reach the top shelf. "What's your book about?" Sybil asked almost timidly after a moment as she rummaged around in search of a spare blanket. Once it was in her hands she unfolded it only to begin rolling it up, intending it to become a barricade to separate her and Tom during the night. Her hands shook a bit as she tucked the blanket in next to Tom, adding in a few extra pillows for good measure and hoping that he would understand what she was doing and wasn't about to start teasing her about it again. _Sorry. I just can't sleep beside a stranger like this…please understand._

Thankfully, he was so impressed by her question that he didn't even seem to notice what she was doing even as he turned to face her. "I thought you'd never ask," he said, his face lighting up at the chance to talk about his work with her. "It's historical nonfiction about the 1916 Easter Rising in Dublin. More specifically, it's about my family's part in the uprising, actually." Sybil could almost hear the pride in his voice, but he did not sound arrogant, more like honored that he had taken the opportunity to tell his family's story to the world.

"Wow," Sybil said, genuinely impressed. Based on his op-ed pieces that he wrote for his column, she had predicted his book to be something far more light and satirical than what he had just described to her. "That's…"

"Not what you were expecting?" Tom said with a grin, finishing her sentence for her. Sybil blushed a bit and nodded, coming to sit beside him on the bed, sitting cross-legged as if she were still a little girl at story time in school. "Not really," she admitted. "But…that's pretty amazing, Tom. You really had ancestors who participated in the Rising?"

"Oh yeah," Tom said enthusiastically. He sat up a bit, speaking animatedly now. "They weren't leaders or anything, of course—if they had been I might be here today, because most of the organizers were executed after the rebellion was put down-but they sure helped out where they could. Some of my relatives used to tell us stories about it, but I always wanted to know how much of them were true and how much was just exaggerating the details for the sake of the story…you know, the way that families always do."

Sybil grinned, nodding over at him. "I know just what you're talking about," she said with a chuckle. Her family definitely had their fair share of stories like that.

"Anyway, so about four years ago I decided to do a little digging on my own—just for fun really, at first. I went through old letters and diaries I found tucked away gathering dust, poked around in some archives buildings in Dublin—I even interviewed my great gran, who was alive at the time of the Rising, to see if she remembered anything. She was only five at the time, so there wasn't much to go on, but it did help a bit." His smile wavered for just a minute. "She died before she ever got to see the book in print, though. Almost 101 years old, she was…she's not the only interview I have in there, since I've met with some historians and stuff as well to get their take on it, but…she's the most important interview in the whole book, to me."

"I'm sorry she died," Sybil whispered, her voice sincere and her eyes filled with sympathy as she looked over at him. He shook his head after a moment, recovering quickly. "Tom, that sounds like it would be really interesting. I…I don't understand why my company hasn't published this yet."

Tom gave a shrug, as if the reason didn't matter. "They keep saying something about how it's not enough to keep the public interested or something like that…that it's a nice human interest story but not something that would sell. I guess if it won't sell, then it's not worth publishing anyway, but I don't care if it's a bestseller or not…even if it sold five copies, I'd be happy. I don't care about the popularity or the money or anything like that…I just love writing, and I just want to get my family's story out there, you know?" He gave a little sigh, so quiet Sybil almost thought she imagined it.

"Yeah," she said softly. "I know. And…for what it's worth, Tom, I'm sorry that they keep rejecting you…"

"No need to apologize, love," he said softly, his eyes meeting hers with an expression she couldn't quite read, but one that she was almost certain she'd never seen on his face before. "No need to apologize at all."

She was silent for a moment as she climbed into bed beside him. It seemed that every time she thought she had Tom Branson completely figured out, he would do something to surprise her. He had changed so much in her eyes from the man that had screamed at her in the pouring rain for destroying his car, and it seemed that the more she got to know him the more she found to like. She smiled as he turned and switched off the lamp on the nightstand, settling himself down beside her in the darkness. They were quiet for a few more minutes, their breathing the only sound, and then…"

"Tom? Are you asleep?"

"Not yet."

It was on the tip of her tongue, the thing she had wanted to ask him from the moment she had seen him talking to Larry across the lawn—whether or not Larry had mentioned her in their conversation, and how he had sounded when he said her name. But instead, she heard herself say, "I just wanted to thank you for everything you've done for me. I know it's…well, it's mad, there's no other word for it, and…anyway, I just wanted to say thank you. I know my family isn't the easiest to deal with, but you haven't complained once, and…I couldn't do this without you. So thanks for that."

When she looked over at him, she swore she saw him smile back. "Get some sleep, love," he whispered, affection evident in his voice. "And you're welcome…"

"Good night, Tom."

"Good night, Sybil."

* * *

To her astonishment, Sybil slept soundly for the first time in days. The next morning, she awoke to find that somehow or another, the blanket barrier she had set up between her and Tom had been kicked to the bottom of the bed. Tom's arms were wrapped firmly around her waist, bringing her close against him as he slept soundly. His breath was warm and even on her neck, and for just a second Sybil allowed herself to relax into his embrace. She tried not to think about how safe and warm she felt in his arms, as if nothing in the world could ever hurt her just as long as he was holding her—something that, even after two years of being with Larry, she wasn't sure that she had ever felt before. She shifted in his embrace just slightly, craning her neck so that she could look at him. He looked different when he slept, younger almost and even more peaceful and easy-going than when he was awake. Before she could stop herself Sybil reached over and brushed a lock of his light brown hair out of his eyes, smiling when he shifted into her touch but did not stir.

She lay there for a while longer, content to watch him until her phone went off with a text alert. She sat up and reached for it, plugged in on the nightstand, and frowned as she saw Larry's name and number flash across the screen. Six words stared up at her, six words that she never thought she would see coming from him as long as she lived. _I need to talk to you._

Those six words seemed to knock the air out of Sybil's lungs as if she had been punched. Her phone suddenly seemed like a weight in her hand, dragging her down until she fell through the floorboards. Why, after all this time, had he chosen to talk to her _now?_ Now, when she was finally happy, or at least pretending to be…who the hell did he think he was, playing with her emotions like that? Was he that petty and insecure that the mere sight of Sybil with another man had made him jealous enough to want her back? Well, Sybil wasn't falling for it, not this time. Larry had led her on for so long before he had walked out on the life they had tried to make together. Edith had been right all along. Larry Grey was not worth it, not anymore. She was not about to give him any more of her time…

And yet…he wanted to talk. Maybe after all this time she would finally get the answer she had begged him for the night of their breakup and so many times in her mind since, the reason why he had decided to end things so suddenly and without warning. Maybe he had changed since she'd seen them last, matured enough to finally tell her just what had happened the night everything had fallen to pieces before her eyes. Sybil and Larry were finished as a couple, there could be no doubt whatsoever about that. Maybe he deserved for her to at least hear him out as he tried to explain himself to her…maybe, no matter how much it hurt, the right thing to do was at least try to listen to what he had to say.

_That is, if he even wants to talk to me about that. It might not be about me or us at all, did you ever think about that? It could be something completely different, something about the wedding. He _is_ the best man, after all, and the world doesn't revolve entirely around you, Sybil, in case you haven't noticed…_

"Everything all right?" came a groggy voice behind her.

Sybil turned over her shoulder to see Tom half-propped up on one elbow, blinking sleepily at her as the morning sunlight streamed in through the curtains. Taken aback that she had woken him up, it took Sybil a second to respond. Finally, though, she managed to smile at him. "Yeah, don't worry," she assured him, her voice quiet. "Everything's fine. Just a text. I was going to go and take a shower. You can go back to sleep if you want, for a while." She giggled almost playfully. "You're going to need to be well-rested for the cricket match, after all."

Tom nodded, stifling a yawn as Sybil got up to make her way to the bathroom to shower, leaving Larry's text still unanswered on her phone.

* * *

**Author's Note: Once again, thanks SO much for your fantastic feedback, everybody! I have the best readers ever, seriously. This is quickly becoming the longest piece I've ever written, but it rarely feels daunting because it's so much fun to write, and seeing your comments never fails to bring a smile to my face! Next chapter we get the cricket match and the bachelor/bachelorette parties…and things MIGHT just heat up between Tom and Sybil… ;)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Hey everybody! Here's the next chapter, and I'm not gonna lie, it gets a little…naughty I suppose? Nothing M-rated…yet. ;) This is funny, though, and SO MUCH FUN to write, so I hope you enjoy! And to my British readers, please don't kill me for my nonexistent knowledge of the game of cricket. I did the best I could! Hope you like anyway.**

* * *

_We're not lovers__  
__But more than friends__  
__Put a flame to every single word you ever said__  
__No more crying__  
__To get me through__  
__I'll keep dancing till the morning with somebody new__  
__Tonight I'm getting over you_

"Tonight I'm Getting Over You" by Carly Rae Jepsen

* * *

"There are two things you need to remember when you play cricket with Larry Gray," Sybil began as she slid her sunglasses on with one hand, her other entwined loosely with Tom's as they crossed the lawn. The day had dawned warm and muggy, the sun hot and bright in the sky, and Robert had announced at least a dozen times over breakfast that it was a perfect day for cricket. "One is that he's a sore loser and an even sorer winner, so you've been warned…and two is that he always looks for ways to cheat the rules. Matthew and the others try to call him out on it sometimes, but…" she gave a pathetic little shrug. Suddenly, the more she told Tom about Larry the more she was beginning to realize just how immature he could be. If Larry was so horrible, what must Tom think of her for having wasted two years of her life being in a relationship with him? She ducked her head, hoping he wouldn't notice her blush. "Just try to keep it in mind."

"So you're saying it's impossible to win against him, then?" Tom asked, trying to piece this all together. "I mean, if he cheats…" He wasn't even sure how it was possible to cheat in cricket, but it didn't matter—just another thing to add to the list of reasons he truly, utterly hated Larry Gray already.

Sybil grinned, squeezing his hand as they joined the others on the lawn. Her parents were setting up lawnchairs for the spectators, and her two grandmothers were no doubt trading verbal blows as they chatted and sipped lemonade in the shade. "That's not what I'm saying at all, Tom," she said mischievously. "I'm saying I want our team to kick his smug ass to the curb."

They met up with the others and divided into teams, featuring (among other relatives) Shrimpy, Tom, Sybil, Edith, and Anthony facing off against Mary, Matthew, Larry, Susan, and Robert. Sybil couldn't help but shoot Larry an icy glare the minute this was decided, protesting that he had purposely put all the good players on his team. Larry, in response, had smirked at her as they took their positions on the field. Larry's team was up to bat first, and so began the longest few hours, or so it seemed at first, of Sybil's life. As it turned out, her team was capable of holding their own against the others, and once Sybil was finally able to do what Tom had been advising her to for the past twenty-four hours and relax, she actually found that she could enjoy herself. She even managed to smile at Larry when she was up at bat, relishing the look of surprise on his face when she sent the ball soaring. She could hear Tom cheering the loudest of all of them as she ran, bringing their team that much closer to the win. For a while, Larry's text was entirely forgotten, and Sybil could almost feel herself starting to believe the very lie that she was paying Tom to sell to her family, that she and Tom were the perfect picture of a happy couple out there on the lawn that morning. It seemed like nothing could bring her down that morning, not even her sullen cousin. According to Mary, Rose's date had up and left shortly after the cocktail party, pleading something about needing to go home to his wife, and Rose had decided to take out her despair on everyone else. She had steadfastly refused to play, despite coaxing from Robert and Shrimpy, and sat under the shade with the others, whining and sulking as she sipped her drink, which Sybil was sure was laced with something that was decidedly not lemonade. Sybil didn't care. Let Rose pout all she wanted, she wasn't about to let her ruin her sister's big weekend.

"Come on, batter-batter-batter, sa-_wing_ batter!" Martha hollered as Anthony went up to bat. Their two teams were tied now, so close to being done they could taste it, and Sybil stood with Tom's arms around her waist as she waited for her turn at bat.

"You know, we don't really say that during cricket," Violet said primly, not bothering to hide her exasperation as she looked over to Martha. Sybil caught her mother's eye and hid a smile, leaning back to rest her head against Tom's shoulder. He, in turn, rested his chin lightly against the place where her shoulder met her neck. It felt so natural to Sybil that she suddenly found herself wondering why they hadn't been standing like that all along. She could feel Larry's eyes on them as they stood there, waiting for the chatter from the stands to cease so he could throw out his pitch. So far he hadn't said a word about the text, and she could only hope it stayed that way.

Martha turned and raised an eyebrow at Violet. "How about you stick to your game, sugar, and I stick to mine?" Violet's eyes widened, and Martha turned back to the game. "Come on, Anthony, hit it outta the park!"

Unfortunately, Martha's brand of cheerleading didn't work. Anthony missed the ball entirely, and Larry burst out laughing. Edith glared daggers at him as she took the bat from her boyfriend—a bit roughly, Sybil thought—and took her place at bat. "Oh, she's mad," she whispered to Tom, who nodded absently. "He's gonna pay for that one."

"Ready, Edith?" Larry asked as he tossed the ball idly up into the air. "I can wait all day, you know. We're going to win whether you hit this or not."

"Bugger off, Larry."

"Oooh, not very nice today. What did I ever do to you?"

"Will you just shut up and throw the damn ball?"

"Edith, come on now," her father said, his voice somewhat stern, as Larry obeyed. There was a crack as Edith's swing collided with the ball, and she took off running before Matthew could catch it. She didn't get very far, but it was at least more progress than her boyfriend had made, and the little crowd erupted into applause. Even Matthew was impressed, giving her a smile and a pat on the back as he tossed the ball back to Larry. "Well done, Edith!"

Larry caught the ball and glowered at him. "What?"

Sybil turned in Tom's arms, smiling up at him as she brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes. "You're up," she said gently. So far Tom had been making a valiant effort, but Sybil didn't want him to blame himself if they ended up losing after all. "You got this?"

Tom grinned and leaned down to place a peck on her lips, wishing he felt half as confident as he was pretending to be. "Absolutely," he said, lying through his teeth. "We're going to make him wish he never crossed us."

It was so similar to how Tom had promised that they would make Larry regret ever letting Sybil go that she couldn't help but smile. "Get on out there, then!"

Tom stepped up, gripping the bat tightly in his hand as Larry prepared to bowl out the pitch. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath and trying to calm himself. In school, he had been on the football team, surely this was no different than making the final kick of a game? He just had to concentrate…

There was a resounding _crack_ as the bat slammed into the ball, sending it flying. Tom took off running as Larry groaned, sinking to the ground in defeat. The Irishman, that smug bastard who flaunted Sybil around like she was some flashy sports car, had beaten him. Matthew joined in the applause and cheers for him as he ran, and even Robert looked impressed, a smile flickering at the corners of his mouth. When Tom made it home, Sybil was there to greet him, throwing her arms around him in a hug so exuberant he lifted her right off her feet. "You did it!" she cried again and again over the chorus of cheers. "We won!"

"Oh, please," Larry scoffed, but the others were no longer paying attention to him at all. Sybil and Tom were locked in a kiss as the others crowded them, and Larry half-expected them to hoist Tom onto their shoulders as if it were the finale of some feel-good movie. "That…didn't anyone see that was out-of-bounds?" A lie, of course, but what did that matter when none of them cared enough to listen to him in the first place? His eyes slid over to Rose, hoping that she of all people would be there to share in his disgust that he had lost to Sybil's new flame…

Instead, Larry jumped as he felt a hand clap him on the shoulder. "Now _that_ was a hit," Robert said approvingly. "Tom might be giving you a run for your money in more ways than one, Larry." Neither of them missed the tone in his voice, nor the warning look in Robert's eyes as he handed Larry the ball. His fingers tightened around it so much they stung, his hand shaking with the effort of keeping his frustration bottled up as Robert went to join the others in extolling Tom's brilliance.

It didn't take him too long to explode.

"Damn it!" he yelled, throwing the ball away from him as hard as he could. There was a shriek as Rose ducked, the ball slamming into the back of the lawn chair she had been reclining in just a few moments before and causing her to spill lemonade all down her front. "Larry, you bloody idiot!" she screamed, hurling the ball back to him. He put up his hands to catch it, forgetting that if there was one thing that Rose MacClare absolutely could not do, it was throw a ball. It hit him squarely below the belt—for all he knew, that might have been where she was aiming—and he went down like a sack of potatoes, curling into a ball and gasping for air.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, from Martha, her tone as satisfied as if she had thrown the pitch herself, "Now that's what I call a home run."

It was Sybil who started laughing first, howling until tears were streaming down her cheeks as the others one by one joined in. Even Matthew, trotting over to make sure Larry wasn't in need of a trip to the hospital, was laughing so hard he almost couldn't breathe. "You know what?" Tom said loudly as they watched Larry struggle on the ground, clutching their stomachs and shaking with laughter as they struggled to compose themselves. "I take back every bad thing I ever said about cricket. This is my new favorite sport."

* * *

"Now explain to me why a bachelorette party has a golf theme?" Tom asked later that day as he opened the door of the rental car for Sybil to get inside. The time had come for them to go their separate ways for the night, Sybil to the first of many bars in Ripon and the nearby villages and Tom to Larry's parents' estate for their respective hen and stag parties. "And does it have anything to do with why you're dressed…" He looked her up and down, a smirk playing on his lips as if he couldn't decide whether to laugh or hit on her. "Like that?"

Sybil rolled her eyes, knowing just as well as he did that she looked ridiculous in her getup. She had changed into a tank top and the shortest skirt she owned, with knee-high argyle socks and high heeled Mary Janes to complete the look. There was a bow in her hair that kept threatening to fall into her eyes, and she felt ridiculous. "It was Rose's idea," she began, throwing her hands up in a helpless sort of gesture as she got in the car.

"Aren't you the maid of honor?" Tom asked, closing the door behind her before going around to his side of the vehicle. "Isn't planning the hen party sort of your jurisdiction?"

"Yes, but considering my experience with this sort of thing is zero, Rose decided to give me a hand with the planning of it all. What my sister doesn't know won't hurt her. For all she knows, this was my idea. Anyway, the golf theme is really just for fun. It's a classier way to say that we'll be visiting nine different bars in one night and most likely engaging in some _very_ unladylike behavior."

"Unladylike?" Tom teased, pretending to be concerned as he backed the car out of the garage and set off to their first destination. Sybil realized that she hadn't even argued over who was going to be driving, unlike the day before. Like nearly everything with him, having Tom in the driver's seat just seemed too natural to fight. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that, love. Should I be worried?"

"Oh, I don't think so," Sybil said. She was beginning to feel more comfortable around him, and that meant she had the confidence to tease him right back. _How's it feel to have a taste of your own medicine, Tom Branson?_ "I won't be jumping into bed with another man, if that's what you're asking."

"Good," Tom fired right back. "I'd hate to think of someone else having that privilege." Was she imagining it, or had his voice sounded almost wistful? "But I was actually talking more about you getting home okay. Do you girls have a ride?"

"Oh yes," Sybil said with a laugh. "There's a limo, don't worry. None of us are going to be getting behind the wheel." Tom nodded at that, visibly relaxing now that he knew that they would be safe on their quest to apparently consume the most alcohol ever recorded by a wedding party. "How about you?"

He gave a wry grin. "I am the ride home. I got stuck with designated driver duty after Matthew begged me. It's no big deal, really, I don't mind. The last thing I need is to get completely pissed out of my mind and confirm about half a dozen stereotypes about the Irish…"

"Oh, trust me," Sybil said, shaking her head. "No matter how drunk you get, I promise you that Larry has been ten times worse. There was this one time…"

"To Mary!" Sybil cried sometime later, lifting the first of many drinks that evening in a toast to her sister. There was a chorus of raucous cheering as they downed their drinks, Sybil included, knocking back her shot of tequila and wincing as it burned her throat. "Remember what I told you!" she called as the guests quickly took up more drinks. "We have eight more bars to hit tonight, so _pace yourself!"_

There was a light tap on her shoulder, and Sybil turned to see Tom smiling sheepishly at her. "I thought you might need this," he said, handing over her purse which she'd apparently left in the car.

"Ooops," Sybil blushed a bit at her stupidity. "Guess I forgot it….thanks for bringing it by. It would have been really embarrassing if someone had carded me."

He grinned at her, and perhaps it was the alcohol, but Sybil felt a thrill go through her. "No problem, love. I was in the neighborhood. I'll just get going now…probably bad luck to have a bloke at one of these things, right? I'll just—"

"Why don't you stay for a drink?" Edith interrupted, grabbing hold of Tom lightly by the arm. "Just one drink, for the hell of it. On us. You don't mind, do you, Mary?"

"Oh, Edith, I'm way ahead of you," Mary said with a grin, passing Tom a glass of his own. Even though their party had just begun, most of the guests were pleasantly buzzed enough to have lost some of their inhibitions already. They crowded Tom from all sides, giggling to each other about how attractive he was while Sybil crossed her arms in front of her chest, trying to ignore the feeling of jealousy creeping into her thoughts. When she saw one of the girls run her hand down Tom's arm, presumably to feel his muscles, Sybil found herself moving to stand beside him, staking her claim the way any normal girlfriend would in that situation. At least, so she told herself.

Tom thanked Mary for the drink and held it up, intending to propose a toast of his own. "Well, first of all, thanks for allowing me a rare glimpse into the bridal party in their natural pre-wedding habitat," he began, and they dissolved into giggles as he raised his glass higher. "Here's to the husbands who've won you," he began, looking to Mary, who smiled. "The losers, who've lost you…" Did his eyes flicker over to Sybil's just now, or was the alcohol making her see things already? "And the lucky bastards who have yet to meet you!"

The girls cheered and downed their drinks, and Sybil took Tom by the arm and led him towards the door. "Thanks for bringing my purse," she said, suddenly nervous. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Have fun, love."

Without even thinking, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Sybil leaned forward and placed a peck on his lips. There were a few delighted shrieks behind them, and she giggled. "Come on, Sybil, give him a real kiss!" someone called out, and the others quickly joined in. "Snog him good, Sybil, you know you want to!"

Sybil needed no further prompting.

Immediately her arms came around Tom's neck, pulling him closer to her as she kissed him again. She could taste his drink on his breath as her tongue slipped into his mouth, her eyes drifting closed as he kissed her back. The girls cheered their approval behind them, a chorus of "WOOOO" that would put any group of sorority sisters to shame, but Sybil didn't even hear them. Her arms around his neck tightened, bringing their bodies so close against each other that she swore she could almost feel his heart beating as he kissed her back. As much as part of her hated to admit it, Sybil didn't think she had ever been kissed quite like this before.

Tom, after the slightest hesitation, returned the kiss with equal enthusiasm. Her boldness surprised him, but he wasn't about to complain as he wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close. For just a moment his eyes opened to look at her, as if making sure that this was truly real and not something straight from his imagination. He couldn't help but smile into the kiss, relishing the thought that not only was she kissing him like this at all, but she was doing this in front of her friends and family, showing him off in a way he never would have expected. He tried not to wonder if she had ever kissed that bastard Larry Gray like this. When she kissed him like this, it was so easy to forget that this was all an act, that at the end of the weekend she would give him the money she had promised him and he would probably never lay eyes on her again. The thought of not seeing that smile or those blue eyes, or hearing her laugh at something ridiculous that he had said, made his stomach clench painfully and gave him the confidence to kiss her even more passionately than before. She tasted of alcohol and strawberry lip gloss, a combination Tom found more intoxicating than any drink he'd ever had. Soon, this would all be gone, and they'd go back to their separate lives. For all he knew, she might even get back together with Larry once this was over. The way Tom saw it, he had two choices. He could either enjoy every moment of this while it lasted, or he could try like hell to keep Sybil Crawley in his life after this weekend.

_Or,_ he thought as he pulled away and looked into her eyes, _I could always do both._

* * *

After Tom had left Sybil to her own party, he'd gone back to Downton to change for Matthew's. Although the location for the stag party was more glamorous than the pub crawl the girls would be participating in, Larry's definition of a good time was decidedly less classy than Rose's. The theme of the stag party seemed to be booze, and everyone was taking full advantage. Larry and Matthew sat at the counter in the kitchen, pouring drink after drink as everyone around them did the same. Every so often someone would think to tell some anecdote about Matthew and Mary's relationship, but for the most part everyone just seemed locked into a contest to see how could make the biggest arse out of themselves. In short, it was like every stag party Tom had ever been to, only the location was much fancier. He wandered around the old estate, less elaborate than Downton but still bigger than any house he'd ever lived in, admiring shelves of antique books that no doubt had never been read and checking his watch every few minutes, waiting for the party to be over.

Across the room, Larry happened to glance up. "Oh, God, there he is," he said darkly, gesturing with his glass. Matthew drunkenly followed his gaze to see Tom wandering around the room, also with a drink in his hand that he would sip every so often, trying to pace himself as he was the one responsible for making sure Matthew and William made it home safely. He wasn't talking to anyone, but it didn't look as if he were avoiding conversation as much as he was waiting for it to come to him. Matthew wondered whether this was because Tom had never experienced a stag party before, or whether this was just a particularly dull one. He turned back, watching Larry's eyes narrow. "What is his problem, anyway?"

"What?" Matthew demanded. From his point of view, all Tom was doing was trying to enjoy the party as best he could, given he didn't know the majority of the guests. Larry was always a bit paranoid when he was drunk, but this was taking it to a new and unnecessary level. "What's wrong with Tom?"

"Nothing," Larry muttered. "There's just something about him I don't like."

"Would the fact that he is, in the words of my future wife, an _Irish sex god_ have anything to do with it?" Matthew asked casually. Mary had had quite a bit to drink at the cocktail party when she'd uttered those words, but far from being jealous, Matthew had already decided that he was going to take every opportunity he could to tease her about it. "Or is it more to do with the fact that he happens to be shagging your ex-girlfriend?"

"No!" Larry cried, so vehemently that Matthew arched an eyebrow at him. "It's just…I don't know. Look at him, walking around here like he's so much better than the rest of us…" He gave a snort of derision as he knocked back the last of his scotch. "He doesn't deserve her."

Matthew turned, fixing his friend with a steely gaze. "And you do?" he asked quietly, his tone a warning. Larry might be his friend, but Sybil was about to become his family, and Matthew had always felt protective of her. The last thing he wanted was for Larry to get involved with Sybil again when all he would end up doing was breaking her heart. She'd had enough of that the first time. _Tom makes her happy, which is far more than you could ever hope to boast of,_ he thought angrily. _Just let her go, you selfish prick…_

Larry froze, seeming to crumple before him as he looked away, now unable to meet Matthew's eyes. "No," he said, his tone almost mournful. He thought of the text he had sent her that morning, how she had yet to respond or acknowledge its existence in any way. Maybe it was for the best…maybe she hadn't gotten it at all. Maybe it would stay trapped in the void of his cell phone, never seeing the light of day so he could stay the coward he was. Maybe it would be better that way. "I _don't_ deserve her."

Matthew regarded him for a moment longer before leaning back in his chair, picking up his own drink. "Good," he said shortly. "Glad we agree on something."

"What are we talking about?" came Tom's voice from behind them, and the two of them froze. "I thought I heard my name."

Matthew, tongue-tied, just shrugged. Larry on the other hand, remembering the day's earlier humiliation, spun around in his seat to face the Irishman. "We _were_ talking about you," he slurred as Matthew slumped in his chair. "Just how…_happy_ Sybil seems to be with you." It was impossible to tell whether Larry was sincere or whether he was just mocking him, and Tom hoped that Sybil's ex wasn't starting to suspect something. _Oh, who the hell cares if he is? Just look at him, the state he's in. He won't even remember this conversation tomorrow, that's for damn sure._

"Well, I'm glad that you've noticed," Tom said casually, although his tone was laced with warning. "Because she is happy—we both are. A woman like Sybil deserves to be happy, don't you? She deserves someone who is willing to dedicate his life to her happiness." He didn't add _Unlike you did,_ but he didn't need to. His face said it all.

For just a second, Matthew was sure that Larry looked as though he was about to say something, and he braced himself, anticipating a fight. Then there was a knock at the front door and he grinned, exaggeratedly checking his watch. "Ah, perfect. They're right on time."

Matthew frowned in confusion. "Who's right on time? Everybody's here. What, did you order a pizza or something?"

Larry rolled his eyes at his friend's naïve question. "No, you bloody idiot, I didn't order you a _pizza_ for your stag night," he said as if speaking to a child as he stood and smirked down at him.

"Oh, God…" Matthew moaned, laying his head down on the table and burying his face in mortification. "Larry, I am going to bloody _kill_ you…"

* * *

Eight bars and God knows how many drinks later, Sybil was having trouble staying on her feet. She was valiantly trying to pace herself, but after pub number three it became painfully obvious that that was a losing battle. Somewhere between belting out Katy Perry's "Last Friday Night" in a disastrous duet with Edith and hopping up onto the counter at bar number four to dance with Mary and Rose (after which they had been escorted out and made a hasty retreat to pub number five), it was as if her inhibitions had flown out the window one by one. Giggling madly as she walked arm-in-arm with her sister back towards the bar, Sybil happened to notice Rose sitting alone, her head buried in her hands. For a moment it looked like her cousin had passed out, but then she saw her swipe at her eyes as if she were crying. She pulled away from Mary gently, gesturing to their cousin. "Gonna go see if she's okay," she shouted over the music.

"Sybbie, I don't think—"

"I'll be right back. Get me a drink, will you? Surprise me!" She shimmied away to the beat of the music, leaving her sister staring at her retreating figure as she plopped down in the seat next to Rose. "Hey there, sunshine," she sang. "Why so glum?"

"I don't know if I can do this," Rose whispered. Her voice sounded guilty, and she couldn't meet Sybil's eyes.

"What, have another drink? It's okay to sit this round out…"

"No, not that. This…the wedding, relationships. I'm rubbish at them…I fuck them up no matter how hard I try. People only end up getting hurt."

"Oh, that's bollocks," Sybil replied, her voice brazen. "Is this about Mr. What's His Name who went home to his wife? Who cares about him? You deserve better, Rose. The two of us, we've got to move on. Stop pining over men who don't care enough about us to keep us in their lives. Did you know Larry texted me this morning?"

Rose seemed to freeze, but that might have been the strobe lights of the club playing with Sybil's already addled vision. "He did? What did it say?"

"Oh, just some bullshit about wanting to talk to me. I didn't answer him yet. In fact…" Sybil grabbed her purse and rummaged through it, tossing lip gloss and a pack of tissues onto the bar before she finally pulled out her phone. With a grin stretched wide across her face, she deleted the text and held up her phone triumphantly. _"That's_ what I think about talking to Larry. Now come on, Rose! We came here to have fun, didn't we? Come dance with me!"

"Sybil, wait. I need to—"

Whatever Rose had been about to say was lost as Mary suddenly thrust two bright pink bags into their faces. "Time for goodie bags!" she cried, her voice loud and cheery.

"Mary, you're the one getting married," Rose protested. I think we're supposed to be giving you gifts."

"Just shut up and open it, darlings. Anna and my sisters worked hard on these, and I wanted you to have something to remember tonight by."

Sybil grinned as she tore into her goodie bag, throwing pieces of fuchsia tissue paper over her shoulder. She had helped assemble the bags, so she already knew what was coming, but the excitement of opening a gift never seemed to get old. Inside each bag were several mini bottles of sweet dessert wine—as if they needed any more to drink—a makeup bag filled with goodies that Mary had chosen, lip gloss and the like; a bottle of bubbles to blow at the wedding ceremony instead of the traditional throwing of rice; copious amounts of chocolate, so much that the bag was nearly full to bursting; and…

"Oh my God," Sybil said as she drew out the skimpiest, laciest pair of knickers she'd ever laid eyes on in her life. "You cannot be serious!"

"What?" Mary said innocently. "So many people were giving me lingerie, I thought I would return the favor!" A small crowd of guests had formed around them now, each of them opening their own gifts. Even in the dim light Sybil could see Anna blushing vividly as she pulled out her own pair of knickers from the bag, stuffing them back in immediately. "Oh, Anna, please!" Mary said with a laugh, wrapping an arm around her best friend. "No need to be so shy. We're all girls here. No one will know about these but us."

"Us and John," Sybil teased, and there was another chorus of cheers and giggles. Even Anna joined in after a moment, pointing a finger at Sybil. "Like you won't be showing yours off for Tom? I dare you to put those on now and surprise him when you get home."

The other girls echoed Anna's words, egging Sybil on. "Oh, you dare me to?" She fired right back, grinning as her words slurred together again. "Anybody else?"

They screamed their approval.

"All right then!" She hopped off her barstool, grabbing Edith's arm for support. Rose had disappeared, teetering on unsteady legs to the bathroom without saying a word. Sybil watched her go, marveling at the fact that Rose hadn't yet passed out. Sybil might not be a paragon of virtue herself this evening, but she didn't think any one of them was a drunk as Rose was. "You really want me to?" She could change without taking off her skirt—she had done it enough times while changing costumes for drama productions in school. The alcohol had taken full control of her actions now, there was no doubt about that. She grinned at the thought of Tom's face when he saw her, forgetting all about the fact that this was supposed to be nothing but professional, just a business transaction. _I'll show off for him, all right…_

"Hey, girls?" came the voice of one of Mary's friends as she returned from the loo. "We might want to go…your cousin just full-on fainted in the ladies'. I think it's time to cut this party short."

They agreed, gathering up their things and making their way towards the limo that was waiting to drop everyone off at their respective hotels and homes. As they ventured outside into the brisk night air, Sybil grinned suddenly as a thought struck her, her mind still focused on Tom.

"Anyone know where the nearest ATM might be?"


	8. Chapter 8

**_Author's Note: Hello, my lovely readers! I present to you what you may or may not have been waiting for...the sexytimes chapter! XD This chapter is rated M for sexual content (and language I guess?) So if that's not your thing, that's fine, feel free to skip! If not...then I hope you enjoy!_**

* * *

_I __know I don't know you_

_But I want you so bad__  
__Everyone has a secret__  
__But can they keep it__  
__Oh no, they can't_

"Secret" by Maroon 5

* * *

In the end, it seemed to take them forever to get home. To Sybil, each second that passed seemed an eternity to wait to see Tom again. After they'd left the pub—and Sybil had convinced the bartender there, a dark-haired man named Thomas who had snickered at her the moment he heard her request, to help them carry Rose into the waiting limo, for she was still passed out cold—they'd headed straight for the nearest bank, at Sybil's request. She could feel the liquor still buzzing through her veins, dictating her every move as she kicked off her heels and ran from the limo and her rowdy friends, each of them egging her on even though they had no idea what she was up to. As quickly as she could she put card after card into the machine, withdrawing the maximum amount each time as her friends and sisters giggled and watched from the sunroof of the limo. She wasn't sure how much to withdraw—how much would Tom want from her? Would he even want to be paid at all, and would Sybil even remember to give him the money? She knew he had been joking before when he'd say that they would discuss money beforehand if they wanted to "be intimate"…but how much of it had really been a joke? She never could tell with him. Those longing looks, the way he seemed to enjoy kissing her so much when they showed off for her family…how much of that was just an act? Or…Sybil hardly even dared to hope…could some of it be real after all?

She didn't know. All she knew was that she wanted Tom Branson so much she almost couldn't breathe.

Maybe in the end she wouldn't end up giving him the money at all. Maybe, just maybe, he would want her just for her and not because she was offering him an incentive. But just in case, Sybil wanted to be sure.

A few minutes and at least a thousand pounds later—Sybil had stopped keeping track after the third withdrawal—she was running barefoot back to the limo to join the others. They dropped everyone off safe at home before driving back to Downton, the three Crawley sisters giggling and struggling to support a still mostly-unconscious Rose on the way back up to her room. "That," Mary announced in a shouted whisper as they laid Rose in her bed and crept out the door, "was the best hen party I could have asked for…what would I _ever_ do without you two?"

They said a rather sloppy goodnight, hugging each other as if they were parting on a transatlantic journey instead of just venturing to try to sleep off what would no doubt be remembered as the hangover of the century before going their separate ways. Sybil, her purse now heavy with the extra money she'd picked up, made her way down to the kitchen for a glass of water before she went to find Tom. If she had been hoping the water would sober her up a bit, she was quickly proven wrong. If anything, it only seemed to rile her up more, although that might have just been sheer giddiness at the thought of what they were about to do. She giggled quietly to herself as she slipped into one of the guest bathrooms, struggling a bit to stay balanced as she swapped her underwear for the pair that Mary had given her in her gift bag. Bag in hand, she tiptoed down the hall back to her bedroom. Her heart was already pounding even though she had yet to even lay eyes on Tom, and her breath was coming in short, excited gasps. _I can't believe I'm doing this…_

She instantly smiled at the sight of him, sprawled out on the bed as if he had fallen asleep waiting for her. His mouth was slightly open and his breathing was calm and even, his bare chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm as she watched him sleep. He looked so peaceful that for a moment she hesitated, hating to wake him, but not knowing if she would be able to stop herself. She bit her lip as she rummaged in his open suitcase as quietly as she could, trying not to giggle and hoping he would have what she was looking for. When she found it, she slipped it into the pocket of the button-down shirt he had apparently worn to the stag party and had left hanging on the handle of the wardrobe. She did giggle then, and Tom stirred in the bed, opening drowsy eyes to look at her. "Sybil?" he asked groggily. "You okay?"

She nodded, striding over to him and pulling the covers back from off of his body. Tonight he had skipped the pajama bottoms and was sleeping in just his boxers, and Sybil's heart beat even faster. "Come with me," she whispered, taking his hand.

Tom's brow furrowed in confusion as he allowed her to lead him to the doorway, wondering what had been so important that she needed to wake him up at three in the morning. She handed him his shirt, which he shrugged into but didn't bother to button. Ordinarily he would have protested, telling her that he needed time to at least get properly dressed, but the fact that he had been roused out of a sound sleep was dulling his sense of judgment. "Sybil, where are we going?" he asked in a whisper as she led him down the hall and to the staircase.

"It's a surprise," she whispered.

Maybe it was the fact that she was so obviously drunk that stopped him from asking any questions—in the state she was in, he wondered if she even knew what she was doing. Maybe it was the fact that he was too exhausted to protest. But Tom knew the truth. He wasn't stopping her because there was a part of him that was threatening to take complete control over his actions…a part of him that was dying to know just what Sybil Crawley had in mind for him tonight.

Except for a few questions—which she avoided with a giggle and a mysterious, rather sultry look each time—he was quiet as she led him by the hand out of the house and onto the lawn. Part of him wondered if this was just a dream in itself, if he would wake up to find himself back in Sybil's childhood bedroom with her more or less passed out by his side and realize that all of this had been in his head. It was only when they arrived at their destination that he realized that not even in his wildest dreams would he have been able to conjure this up on his own.

"Sybil, we can't be here!" he protested in as loud a whisper as he dared as she opened the door of the garage, still pulling him along behind her. "I am not letting you out onto the road in the state you're in, so if a joyride is what you had in mind, you can forget it, all right?"

She chuckled again, a raw, sensual sound that seemed to go right through him. "That wasn't the _kind_ of joyride I had in mind…"

His eyes grew wide as he realized what she no doubt had in mind, and he stopped short in the doorway, refusing to move until he had an explanation. His mouth dropped open, leaving him stammering like an idiot for several seconds. "God, Sybil, we _cannot_ do this here…we shouldn't be doing it at all! This is your da's garage-" _Oh, God, what if there's some sort of groundskeeper who's going to walk in on us and tell him? I'll be thrown out of here before my feet hit the floor… "_—he'll kill us if he finds out!"

"He's not going to find out, Tom," Sybil said, simply giggling as she grabbed hold of Tom by the shoulders and pulled him across the threshold. "I promise…" In the dim light of the garage, it seemed that all he could see—all he _wanted_ to see—was her blue eyes. "You can trust me." As if to prove her point, reached over and closed the door behind them. The lock slid firmly shut, and Tom knew he was trapped. Of course, as he looked at her, that smirk playing upon her lips that seemed to be just _begging_ for him to kiss away, he found himself wondering if that was truly a bad thing.

Part of him wished he had fought back more than he did. It was as if something had awoken inside of him at her words, the confidence she had that whatever they were about to do would remain undiscovered by her prying family. Her eyes never left his as she walked backwards, her hands in his, leading him towards the cars. _We can't…_

Finally he found his voice. "You need to lay down and sleep this off, love. Trust me on this. Let's just go back to the house…we shouldn't do this here." _We shouldn't do this at all…I shouldn't _want _to. I shouldn't, God, but I do. Damn it, Sybil… "_You're drunk, Sybil," he said gently, trying not to sound like he was lecturing her as she opened the door of the Renault and all but pushed him inside. He turned so that he was sitting on the upholstered seat but still facing her, his legs dangling out of the vehicle while she stood watching him expectantly.

She wasn't fazed. "So are you."

"I had one drink, Sybil Crawley. One. Designated driver, remember? You, on the other hand, my love…you look like you've had a hundred—we can't do this—"

He broke off abruptly when she leaned over, placing one delicate finger to his lips to silence them. Her skin felt like silk against his lips and smelled of sweet citrus hand lotion—he had seen the bottle in the medicine cabinet when he'd brushed his teeth that morning. Her touch was feather-light, so faint that if he couldn't see what she was doing in the light of the moon coming through the open garage door then he would have thought he had simply imagined it. The gesture made his breath catch in his throat, and when she slipped her hands down towards the collar of his shirt he swore he forgot how to breathe entirely. Her eyes never left his as she gently pushed his shirt down and off his arms, leaving his torso bare before her. There should have been warning bells going off in his head, telling him to snap out of it and put a stop to whatever this was before they got too carried away, that it wouldn't be right to take advantage of her when she was so clearly drunk and besides that, she was _paying_ him, after all—but instead all he could do was watch, transfixed, as she ran her hands along the muscles of his shoulders and chest one last time before taking a step back. His eyes were trained on her every move, unable to look away. "Sybil, what are you…"

"Shhhhh."

More objections were on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed them down as he watched her reach for the hem of her top. His eyes widened as he watched her pull it up and over her head, revealing her bare skin to him inch by tormenting inch before discarding it to the floor like it was nothing. He was utterly spellbound, his eyes trained on every movement of her body as if she were some siren calling to him from the sea. At this point, Tom was fairly certain he'd walk through the waves as long as she was there to meet him on the other side.

The light purple fabric of her bra stood out against her pale skin in the moonlight as Tom stared at her, hardly remembering how to breathe. _"Sybil,"_ he said again, but this time there was not a single objection in his voice. Instead, there was only awe as he gazed at her, at her eyes more filled with confidence than he'd ever seen them, at the curves of her breasts and her hourglass waist as she looked expectantly at him. Tom's heart hammered against his ribs, and his mouth had gone suddenly dry, and he knew that even if he had the words he would not be able to speak. He had thought Sybil Crawley beautiful from the moment he'd laid eyes on her, even when he'd been shouting at her for what she'd done to his car. Now, though…she was more breathtaking than he had ever imagined.

In the next moment, she had unzipped the back of her miniskirt and let that fall to the floor as well, and Tom had to physically fight to keep his mouth from dropping open yet again. She had revealed to him perhaps the most skimpy pair of knickers he'd ever seen in his life, more like a swatch of black lace held together by threads than anything resembling an actual garment. Already he was filled with longing for her in more ways than one, and seeing her like this was nearly enough to push him over the edge already. His arms ached to hold her, to pull her close and kiss her like they had in the pub only a few hours ago. Already he was straining uncomfortably at the fabric of his own underwear, and he knew from the smirk on Sybil's face that she had noticed it as well. "Fuck, Sybil…"

"Now you've got the idea."

"We _can't…"_ This wasn't right. None of this was. She was paying him, for God's sake—not to sleep with her but to be here in the first place. To sleep with her now…that would make him no better than a hooker, wouldn't it? _No, you idiot, it _would_ make you a hooker. You've got to stop her…she's drunk, I can't take advantage of her like this…This is wrong. This is wrong in every possible way._

But if it was so wrong, then why did it feel as if everything was finally falling into place? How could something so wrong feel so right at the same time?

As if reading his mind, Sybil spoke up as her hands drifted behind her back, fiddling with the clasp of her bra. "I don't know when it happened, Tom," she whispered, "but I couldn't care less of what Larry thinks of me anymore. I care about what you think. I want this, Tom. I do. You make me feel things I haven't felt since…since forever. I've wanted to do this for so long…probably since the moment you started singing to me in my shower."

"I've wanted this since the moment you grabbed me while I was talking to Larry and planted that kiss on me," Tom replied immediately, the words springing to his tongue unbidden.

She smiled as she unclasped her bra, inching it off of her as agonizingly slowly as she had done with her shirt. "That was a damn good kiss," she murmured as it, too, fell to the floor. His eyes widened, traveling every curve as her breasts were finally revealed to him. Tom's heart nearly turned over as desire welled up inside of him, seeming to fill his veins and consume him from the inside out. This was the most sensual, romantic moment of his life, as crazy as it was, and right now, he never wanted it to end. None of the other women he had been with—none of the other women he had _loved,_ even—had ever made him feel like this, and as he looked upon her now, at her blue eyes growing dark with need, her mouth slightly parted as she stared at him, her nipples pebbling even though he had yet to even lay a hand on her, he felt as if she were the most gorgeous woman he had ever laid eyes on.

"You're beautiful, Sybil," he breathed.

She smiled at him, eyes half-hooded but clearly just as darkened with desire as his own were, as she took a step closer. "You really think I am?" she asked him, continuing to walk towards him in just her underwear, swaying her hips slightly with every step. Every movement of her luscious body only served to mesmerize Tom even more. "Larry never told me that unless he had to," she said quietly.

"Good," Tom said vehemently as she slid into the car beside him and closed the door. The Renault was slightly roomier than he had expected, and he wondered if her father had made more than a few modifications to the frame when he'd had the car restored. He could feel the heat of her body radiating onto his and they hadn't even touched yet, and his breath caught once again. "Because I want to be the only one." He sounded possessive, he knew, but he didn't care. As long as they were honest, he wanted her to know the truth about this—that the moment he had realized he was speaking to Larry Grey that he had wanted to punch him right then and there, that his hackles still rose whenever he saw Larry so much as glance at her, ready to jump in and defend her if need be…that every time he looked at her now he saw a tiny vision of what his life with her could be, and he wanted it. He wanted her to know that…he wanted her to know everything, if only she would give him a chance to tell her.

"Kiss me, Tom."

He obeyed. His lips on hers were hesitant at first, but when she kissed him back he felt a longing for her so strong it took his breath away all over again. She gasped lightly against his mouth as he deepened the kiss, pulling her against him until he felt her breasts brush up against his bare skin. The sensation combined with the sound she made sent a thrill throughout his entire body, spurring him on even more as his tongue slipped inside her mouth. She responded in kind, her hands running through his hair as she kissed him greedily, her mouth all but consuming his, and he was a most willing victim to her. Sybil's hands skated down the back of his neck as she wrapped her arms around him, so tightly that she was once again sure she could feel the rapid beat of his heart. He wanted this as much as she did, he realized, and that excited her almost more than his kisses had. She could taste his toothpaste on her tongue as she kissed him with more passion than she and Larry had had in two years with each other…perhaps more passion than she had ever felt in her life. This wasn't right, none of it—couples were supposed to meet and connect instantly, not start out their lives with a car crash and a bribe to go to a wedding only two days before falling into bed together. But somehow, even though none of it was traditional in any sense of the word, Sybil knew in her heart that this was right somehow. It was as if it were the most natural thing in the world, being with him like that. She and Tom shouldn't fit together—they were strangers.

Still, from two completely different worlds, and they had clashed in one way or another right from the moment they'd literally crashed into each other's lives. But even so, they fit together in some strange, impossible way.

Sybil didn't believe in love at first sight. She didn't believe in soul mates or fate stepping in to bring you the person you're meant to be with at the exact moment that you needed them. But even without all that, there was a part of her that believed—that knew—that somehow, she and Tom fit together perfectly and always had.

Tom left her lips then, smiling as Sybil let out a little whine of protest. Her swollen lips fell open in a gasp as his kisses moved lower across her jaw and neck. His lips were gentle but insistent as well, every touch and caress setting a fire beneath her skin as he gently began to lay her down. "Tom," she whispered, her breath hitching in her throat as his teeth grazed her neck at her pulse point, her eyes fluttering closed. He smiled against her skin, traveling lower as he gently laid her down on the Renault's plush seats. This moment still felt so surreal to them both—were they seriously about to do this, and in the backseat of her father's vintage car, no less?—but every time their minds would snap out of it and tell them no, their bodies would drown them out with a resounding _yes, yes, more._

She was laying on her back now, panting through swollen lips as Tom hovered over her. He held himself braced on his hands, but that didn't stop Sybil from feeling every curve of his body above her as she arched her back to get closer to him. Sybil cried out as his lips brushed against her collarbone, feeling Tom smile against her skin as he left a trail of open-mouthed kisses downwards towards her breasts. Her mouth fell open as he lavished kisses over every inch of her skin.

With every brush of his lips Sybil felt another barrier that she had put up—between the two of them, between her and the world—fall away, until there was nothing left but the two of them. Nothing that she and Larry had ever done together, nothing that she had ever done with anyone, had ever made her feel like this, so full of longing for a man she barely knew…but wanted to so badly. Already she felt like she could never get enough of him, and they hadn't even begun yet.

A moan slid unbidden from her throat as he began to nip lightly at her breasts, using his teeth and tongue to torment her mercilessly. It had been so long since Sybil had done anything like this that her body seemed hyper-sensitive, a willing victim to whatever Tom had in mind. She felt him smile wickedly against her skin. "Ah, do you like that, love?" he asked, mischief in his voice as he nipped at her skin more insistently until she cried out once more. "Tom!"

"Shhh, love I'm right here," he soothed against the curve of her breast as he bit down again. "I'm not going anywhere…"

"You'd better not—oh God!"

He chuckled, his breath warm and rolling down her skin as his kisses went lower towards her navel. Every little gasp and moan from Sybil drove him on, making him want her more than ever. His fingers found the waistband of her knickers and he took his time peeling them off of her, wanting her to know just how torturous her little striptease had been for him to endure. The moment she was free of them he allowed his eyes to rove over her full form unchecked. "God, Sybil…" he murmured as he took in every inch of her before him. "Can I…?" Words were once again failing him, but he no longer cared. He leaned down to capture her lips again as his hands explored her, his tongue sliding into her mouth just as he slipped one finger into her depths. She made no move to stop him as he added another, moaning at the feel of her around him already.

She gasped in shock, and the sound seemed to go right through him. "Tom…" she whispered, her breathing ragged as she moaned with abandon. Tom was so different from every other guy she'd been with. He was possessive and yet gentle at the same time, taking his time and discovering what she liked in order to bring her the most pleasure. It was the polar opposite of how she and Larry had been when they were together, and Sybil's heart raced as she moved her hips forward to let Tom explore her more. "Right there…oh God…" His fingers were gentle, but his lips insistent as he kissed her as if trying to claim her for himself once and for all. Sybil was more than willing to let him.

She was already teetering dangerously close to the edge, thanks to Tom's expert work—just like with the kissing, it was clear that he knew what he was doing. With a smile, she reached between them and guided his fingers further inside for just a moment as a keen escaped her throat before he pulled his hand away. "I want _you,_ Tom," she breathed between kisses. "All of you…"

He nodded, leaning back on his heels just a bit as he went to remove his boxers. Almost immediately she saw his face fall. "Damn it, Sybil," she whispered, sounding dejected. "We can't…"

"I thought we'd been over this. Yes we can. I _want_ to. I want you, Tom, and I know you want me. We can…"

He shook his head, mortified at his own stupidity. "I don't have anything…"

She gazed up at him a moment, confused, before bursting into laughter. "Oh, Tom!" she sighed fondly, reaching for his discarded shirt on the floor of the Renault. She reached into the pocket and pulled something out, and Tom saw a glint of foil in the moonlight. "Stole this from your suitcase," she said coyly, waving the packet at him. "Am I wrong in thinking you won't mind?"

"God, Sybil…" Tom breathed, looking at her as if he were seeing her for the first time. "You are perfect."

She grinned up at him like a cat as she tore open the packet with her teeth. In the next moment she had rolled them over so that she was on top—a slightly more difficult task given the fact that they were in the backseat of a car—and was straddling his hips. She leaned back just enough to remove his underwear before she was back, taking a moment to admire the sight of him and run a finger down his length to tease him before she rolled the condom on.

"Hope you don't mind this way," she whispered devilishly as she leaned down to kiss him, nibbling on his lower lip and eliciting a moan from him in response.

"God, yes, Sybil…" he whispered, his eyes never leaving hers as she lowered herself onto him.

They gasped in unison at the new sensation, and Sybil gave them only half a second to adjust to each other before she began. She braced her hands at the base of his warm stomach as she moved up and down, crying out each time as he moved deeper within her. She couldn't help but think how sex with Larry had never been this good. This was passionate and tender and exciting all at once, like nothing she had ever felt before. Tom's hands came to rest on her hips, guiding her to come down harder against him as they both cried out.

"Oh, God, Tom…" Every motion of their bodies brought her closer to the edge, and the more Sybil tried to hold on, the more she knew that that was impossible. Tom's eyes watched her hungrily as they continued, trained on her breasts as they bobbed up and down before him and the way she threw her head back to call out his name again and again, as if it were a mantra she never wanted to stop repeating. He was glad, for it meant that she was enjoying this just as much—if not more—as he was.

When he was sure she was least expecting it, he rolled them over so that he was once again on top, not even giving her a moment to react before he was picking up right where he left off. They were both so close, he could feel it, and he wanted to drag these last few moments out as long as he could. After all, who knew what would happen in the morning? She might regret everything they had just done together, and if that happened, Tom wanted the memory of this night to stay perfectly preserved in his mind. He bit and sucked at the sensitive skin of her neck as he continued to rock in and out of her, his hands pinning hers helplessly above her head. "Tom…" she moaned blissfully, raising her hips to meet him, making them move in tandem. He whispered her name in response, letting out a moan of his own, opening his eyes to watch her in these last few moments. He doubted he had ever seen her look more beautiful, and not just because of the physical perfection, at least in his eyes, of her naked body.

Looking down at her now, her lips perfectly swollen from his kisses and her dark hair spread out over the car seat, he saw a Sybil that was completely real and vulnerable, a Sybil who had finally knocked down the walls she had built up ever since the breakup with Larry to keep people away. This Sybil was finally ready to move on and let someone in, just as he had told her…and she had let him in.

She had chosen him.

"Yes, Tom, yes…oh God, Tom!"

Without warning she cried out in release, her body delicately shuddering against him as she surrendered. Seconds later he joined her, repeating her name over and over as the world fell to pieces around him. He collapsed against her, finding her lips and kissing her desperately as he rode out the waves of his pleasure, not able to recall a single time he had felt better than he did right now.

He gently rolled away from her and to the side, holding her close against him as they curled up on the Renault's back seat. She reached down and produced a blanket from the floor of the car, tossing it over the both of them as she entwined her legs with his. "That," she panted as her eyes met his in the darkness, "was amazing."

He kissed her again, his hands running up and down her back as he held her. "You're amazing, Sybil," he whispered back.

They soon drifted off to sleep in each other's arms, too exhausted and sated to even think about returning to the house.

But Tom was certain of one thing—there was no way he was going to let anyone take Sybil away from him now.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: Here it is, the aftermath so many of you requested! I hope it doesn't disappoint!**

* * *

_When marimba rhythms start to play__  
__Dance with me, make me sway__  
__Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore__  
__Hold me close, sway me more_

-"Sway" by Michael Buble

* * *

The first thing that Sybil was aware of when she woke up was the pounding in her head. It reverberated from somewhere behind her eyes, making pain shoot through her entire body with each breath she took. She gave a quiet little moan, squeezing her eyes shut and inwardly cursing everyone from Rose for coming up with the pub crawl idea in the first place to Mary for needing to have a bachelorette party to even the first inventors of alcohol, for coming up with the drinks that caused her torment. She wasn't sure if she'd ever had a hangover this strong before in her life, and as another moan of pain slid from her throat she reached to pull the blanket up over her head, wanting to hide from the world for a little while…

When she felt something move at her side, though, Sybil felt her eyes snap open. Suddenly she was aware that the surface she was lying on was not her own warm, soft bed, but the smooth leather seats of the Renault which were now sticking uncomfortably to her bare skin. The sheets that covered her were not her usual sprigged floral pattern, but an old tartan blanket that they had brought back once from a trip to Scotland. Most distressingly, as Sybil looked to her left, she realized two things: one, that she was not alone, for Tom Branson was stirring lightly at her side…and two, that beneath the blanket, Sybil was completely naked.

Her blood ran cold.

"Oh God…"

What had _happened_ last night? The last thing she remembered was her and Edith trying to drag a half-conscious Rose back up to her bedroom, while Mary trailed unhelpfully behind. Then…had she gone to bed? No, clearly not…she closed her eyes and put a hand to her head, willing the memories to come back to her. There had been the ATM where she'd stocked up on money for—oh. _Oh._

"Oh my God!"

Sybil sat bolt upright, clutching the blankets to her chest as Tom jolted awake beside her. His blue eyes were wide with confusion as he looked around, trying to get his bearings, while Sybil shrank away from him, one hand still resting against her pounding head. "Sybil?" Tom asked, clearly concerned. She glanced at him, realizing that he, too, was naked, and her cheeks flamed in embarrassment and perhaps even a little shame. It was coming back to her now, little by little, flashing across her memory the fragmented scenes of a broken DVD that she knew she would never be able to remove from her memory. There was her giddily swapping her knickers for the ridiculous ones Mary had given her, the way she had woken Tom from a deep sleep and practically dragged him out here…the way he had protested as one by one she removed her clothes…

And then that kiss. That kiss that had been like a wrecking ball, tearing down not only the ones Tom had put up in order to supposedly keep things professional between them but the ones that had been in place since Sybil and Larry's breakup six months ago. With one kiss, all of Sybil's barriers had been knocked away, and for that night she knew she had been glad to see them go. After the kiss had come everything else—whispers against bare skin, little caresses that made her shiver even now as she recalled them, even though she hated herself for it. Moment by moment it all returned to her, some images hazier than others and some as clear as day. Last night, or so it seemed, everything had been perfect. In the light of day, however…

"What did we _do?" _Sybil moaned, burying her head in her hands.

Tom bit his lip, hoping she didn't notice the way his face had fallen at her words. Her outburst had been like a shot to the heart. He should have seen this coming, he knew, but there had been a part of him that was foolish enough to hope that Sybil wouldn't regret what they had done when morning rolled around. He reached over to place a hand on her shoulder, but she jerked away from him. "Come on, Sybil, don't be like that…" he soothed. "Come on, love…"

"Don't call me that!"

If what she had said before had been bad, that was like taking a bullet. "Fine," Tom said, his voice somewhat thick. "I won't. But Sybil, listen to me. It's all right. I promise. Do you…" he sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Do you remember…?"

"Of course I remember," Sybil whispered. She wasn't sure whether she was more horrified at what they had done, or the fact that she had enjoyed it so much…or at the part of her that, as her gaze slid over to land on him, wouldn't have minded another go right then and there. "I just…I can't believe…"

"I tried to stop you," Tom blurted out, saying the first words that came to mind. Clearly, this had been the wrong choice, for Sybil's eyes narrowed. In her anger, the death grip on her blanket loosened, revealing a bit of cleavage that Tom tried not to stare at too obviously. She was even more beautiful in the light of day, he realized, and he blushed as he noticed her skin peppered here and there with little dark bruises—the lingering reminder of their night together. He wondered if he had any souvenirs of his own…

"You should have done a better job of it, then!" Sybil all but shouted, her face crimson now. "You should have stopped me! You should have—" Words failed her then, and she collapsed back onto the seat, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes as if that could not only stop her hangover in its tracks but somehow erase the past six hours from her memory as well. "What was I thinking? So we really…and did we use a…?"

"Yes, and yes," Tom said gently, placing his hand on her knee awkwardly. "Don't worry, you were very careful. I was impressed."

Sybil cracked open one eye to look at him. "_That's_ what you were impressed with?" she asked skeptically. "My ability to remember to bring a condom?"

"No!" Tom spluttered, having been caught off-guard. "I mean, yes, but…God, Sybil, what do you want me to say? Last night was…"

She sat up on one elbow, the blanket slipping farther down her form. She didn't seem to notice, for that curiosity that Tom had by now realized came second nature to her was showing through again. "Last night was what?"

Tom sighed again, this time rather sheepishly, as a smile threatened to break through. "Last night was amazing, Sybil. Absolutely amazing. You…you're lovely…more than lovely. You're breathtaking, Sybil. Last night…" _Was the best damn night of my life. Best sex I've ever had…best woman I've ever been with. God, Sybil, the things I would say to you if I wasn't so damn scared of how I feel…_"Last night was amazing…"

She stared at him for a long moment, her blue eyes searching his as if trying to figure out whether he was telling the truth or not. Finally, she did the one thing that Tom would have never expected her to do—she smiled. "Good."

"Good?" Tom asked, confused.

"Because from my point of view it was amazing too, and I wanted to make sure it wasn't just this damn hangover talking for me."

They both laughed at that, glad that they had soothed the awkwardness for now with the revelation that they had both enjoyed what had probably been a colossal mistake the night before. Tom grinned over at her, running his hand through his hair again. "Look, maybe this isn't the best place to talk about this. Maybe we should go back inside…get dressed, get some coffee in you…that hangover must be enough to slay a walrus."

Sybil arched an eyebrow at the expression, but said nothing. "You have no idea."

"Trust me, love, I think I do. I'll go do the walk of shame first and get you a coffee, okay? Meet me in your room in, let's say…ten minutes."

Sybil smiled back, nodding. "Ten minutes," she repeated. Tom reached over to open the door of the Renault and felt along the floor for his boxers, slipping them on as quickly as he could. Sybil bit her lip, trying not to stare as he got dressed although part of her thought it was the hardest thing she'd ever had to do. When he was decent once more, he looked over his shoulder at her watching him, waiting for her turn to slip back to Downton unseen. "I'll see you in a few minutes," she said softly.

In the end, he wasn't sure what made him do it, whether it was the still-vulnerable look on her face or just the hope he had drawn from the knowledge that she had enjoyed last night as much as he had. He could still hear her calling out for him, still see her face as she writhed with pleasure beneath him…and later, how peaceful she had been as he watched her drift off to sleep nestled in his arms. Maybe it was that image in his head that made him lean forward until his lips brushed hers softly, closing his eyes and tasting her for just a moment before he pulled away.

"See you."

Sybil waited until he was no longer in sight before she reached for her clothes herself, still feeling the ghost of his last kiss on her lips and mentally preparing herself for the walk back to her room. She only hoped that it was still early enough that not many people would be up and about…

* * *

From her spot at the breakfast table, Cora chuckled as she glanced out the window to see her youngest daughter trudging through the yard, her hair a tangled mess and her heels and what looked suspiciously like a bra clutched in her hands. Robert looked at her curiously over the rim of his cup, silently asking what was so funny, and Cora smiled. "Those girls still think we don't know about the creative ways they utilize the garage," she explained coyly.

Robert's brow furrowed, missing her meaning entirely. "What are you talking about?" he asked, his tone wary.

Cora couldn't help but again at her husband's obliviousness, shaking her head. "Nothing, Robert. Just eat your breakfast."

* * *

Thankfully, the only person Sybil ran into on her walk of shame was Anthony, who simply smiled and nodded at her, silently promising to keep her secret. She made it to her room unscathed and set her heels down on the floor, tossing the bra into the hamper as she settled herself on the bed to wait for Tom. She spotted her purse lying on the floor and picked it up, grimacing as she noticed her wallet stuffed so full of bills that it wouldn't even close properly. Of all the things she had done last night, maybe the stop at the ATM had been the stupidest of them all. What had she been thinking, withdrawing all that money to..to…_pay_ Tom for his _services?_ He wouldn't have accepted it, first of all. She knew that now. Somehow, he had wanted to sleep with her for her, not because of any incentive. Maybe that's what she found most surprising about the whole thing, that even after Larry had supposedly broken her she was still attractive and desirable to this maddening Irishman. If she had just been a little more confident in herself…_on Monday I'll take it back. I'll put it back in the bank and it'll be like none of this ever happened…_

But, Sybil realized as the door opened behind her and she hurriedly stuffed her purse under the covers of the bed to hide it, she might not want to forget all of last night.

She turned to see Tom smiling at her, two mugs of coffee held triumphantly in his hands. "This should help," he said as he handed one over to her. Sybil took a sip—black coffee, perfect to cure her hangover before she and Tom had to go help Matthew and Mary learn their wedding dance. "And if that doesn't work for you, your grandmother's already ordered a tray of Bloody Marys made up in the kitchen. She's convinced that everyone who went out last night is in desperate need of more hair of the dog that bit them." He winked at her as he brought his own cup to his lips and took a careful drink.

"That sounds like her through and through," Sybil said, shaking her head. "So grandma saw you, then?"

"Yeah, but only in the kitchen. From her point of view it just looks like I nipped downstairs from your room for the coffee. So far, our secret's safe…"

There was an awkward pause.

"Look, Tom" Sybil began as she took another sip, feeling the caffeine already begin to push her headache back. "I…I don't want things to be awkward between us because of last night. I…I overreacted earlier, I know I did. I don't…I just don't want this to ruin the rest of the weekend for us."

"It won't," Tom said immediately. "It won't, Sybil, I promise…last night was great. I mean it. I don't want to ruin anything either…"

"Good," Sybil cut him off, standing up. "Because you're right…last night _was_ amazing…totally unprofessional, but amazing." She winked at him and stood up, feeling refreshed after just half the cup of coffee. "I'm going to go hop in the shower…"

"Sure you don't want me to join you?" Tom teased before he could stop himself. "If you didn't mind being unprofessional before…"

"Nice try, Branson."

Tom chuckled to himself as she grabbed a dress from the wardrobe—a gauzy ice-blue number that laced up the back like an old-fashioned corset and that he already knew would look stunning on her—to change into after her shower for the dance lesson and retreated to the bathroom. He glanced around, hardly able to believe his luck—Sybil didn't hate him after all—and sat down on the bed, wanting to relax and unwind a bit himself before they had to go dancing…

His brow furrowed as he sat on something hard and uncomfortable, something that was decidedly not part of the bed. He stood up again and set his coffee on the nightstand, pulling back the covers to find whatever it was hidden beneath. He chuckled as he realized it was Sybil's purse, forgotten beneath the blankets from the night before. It was heavier than he expected as he picked it up, and even though a voice in his head told him not to, he couldn't help but undo the clasp to peek inside, wondering what was dragging it down so much…

Money. Sybil's wallet was stuffed to the brim with money, so full of tens and twenties and fifties that it seemed like it would burst at the seams at any moment. For a second all Tom could do was stare at them, confusion staining his brow as one by one the pieces fell into place. Then the illusion was shattered, and he picked up the wallet without a second thought and stormed into the bathroom. He could see Sybil's silhouette from behind the shower curtain, still blissfully unaware of his presence just before he yanked the curtain open, not caring what she thought of him in his anger. She stifled a shriek and jumped, clapping her hands over her breasts to cover herself before she realized it was only Tom. She relaxed slightly, letting her hands drift down to her sides, as if she no longer cared if he saw her after last night. Tom wasn't amused."Is this for last night?"

She tried to smile and shake her head, but not before Tom caught the guilty look on her face. He clenched his jaw, waiting for her to try to explain her way out of this one. "Of course not," she said, brushing her wet hair away from her face. "Of course not, Tom. I mean…not really. I just…I was drunk, Tom! That's all it was. I didn't want you to think I was expecting anything for free or…" under his harsh gaze, he saw her deflate a bit. "Or expecting anything at all…I mean, I suppose I was expecting something or else I wouldn't have made them stop on at that ATM on the way home, but…"

"What the hell, Sybil!" Tom exploded, throwing the purse across the room. It landed on the bed, bills scattering in all directions. "What the hell were you thinking? Were you honestly going to _offer _that to me? Are you crazy?" Unable to face her, to face the fact that everything they had done last night had just been part of their stupid _business_ transaction, he turned and fled back to the bedroom, his heart pounding painfully and his breathing heavy with anger. He heard her shut off the water behind him and turned to see her wrapping a towel around herself as she followed after him. She stood before him dripping water and soap suds onto the pristine carpet, her blue eyes begging him to hear her out. "Just let me explain…"

"Explain what? What could you possibly have to say for yourself? It's pretty clear what's going on here, Sybil. You went to the bank because you thought I needed incentive to have sex with you last night. That's all. Clear as day, if you ask me. If you thought..." Tom hissed through gritted teeth, angrier than Sybil had ever seen him, "if you seriously thought that the only way I would sleep with you was by paying me, Sybil…" Tom shook his head, as if utterly disgusted by the sight of her. "Then you don't really know me at all."

His words were like a shot straight to the heart, and she wasn't exactly sure why. It was all she could do to keep looking him in the eye when every part of her was screaming at her to either run into the bathroom and lock herself away, or else catapult herself full-tilt into his arms. "You're right," she said, her voice cracking just slightly. The truth in her words hit her like a ton of bricks, and she felt her chest constrict painfully. "I _don't_ know you at all."

_But I'd like to,_ she thought, unable to say the words out loud. She wanted to know him, wanted to more than she would maybe ever be able to admit even to herself. She wanted to know him, but she had just blown that chance. There was nothing to do now but try to make it through the rest of the weekend without alerting her family to the fact that Sybil and her "boyfriend" were fighting—that is, if Tom didn't decide to pack it up right then and there and skip out on the wedding altogether.

She saw his face fall, as if he knew that he had overstepped his bounds. "Sybil…" he whispered, reaching out to her, but she shrank back away from him. "Just forget about it," she muttered, not looking him in the eye. "Just forget about _all_ of it, Tom, all right? I'll meet you down at breakfast, okay? Just…just forget it." She turned to go, suddenly wanting nothing more than to finish getting ready so she could start putting this weekend behind her…

"I don't want to forget it, Sybil," he said quietly. "That's the worst part of it. I still feel like I have it in me to forgive you, stupid bastard that I am. I don't want to forget."

His words stopped her in her tracks as effectively as if he'd reached out and grabbed her, and she turned over her shoulder to look at him, still clutching the towel to her chest. "You don't?" she asked in disbelief.

"I don't," he said, shaking his head as a tiny smile seemed to ghost over his face. "How could I, after everything we've been through so far together? I don't just mean last night, but everything. From the first moment I met you, Sybil, it's been…" _It's like you made me feel alive again, like you were a missing piece I didn't even realize was gone until I saw you standing there in front of me. "_Well, it's been an adventure to say the least. Who would want to forget that, Sybil? Who would want to forget you? And last night…last night was amazing, Sybil. I shouldn't have lost my temper with you. I'm sorry. I just…" He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, and Sybil hated the part of her that wished it was her doing that instead as she recalled how it had felt to do so last night. "Look, I think we can both agree it's been a…a weird morning. For both of us. Sybil, love, what do you say we start over? Pretend the last twenty minutes or so didn't happen?" He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "It was just…just a misunderstanding, love. That's all it was. I shouldn't have shouted at you, especially not when you're nursing a hangover from hell. I understand. People do plenty of stupid things when they're drunk, Sybil, trust me, I _know…"_

Suddenly Sybil's eyes flashed in anger, and Tom realized with a start that he had gone too far. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she demanded. "Are you saying I'm stupid? Because that's sure as hell what it sounded like."

_Damn it._ He had just tried to make things better, and he had managed to put his foot in it again, and even worse this time around. "No, Sybil, that's not what I mean at all…"

It was too late. She had already turned and was stalking angrily back to the bathroom, apparently wanting nothing more to do with him. The door slammed shut behind her, effectively shutting him out and putting an end to the conversation. "Damn it!" Tom muttered under his breath, sinking down onto the bed and cursing his own stupidity. "Sybil…"

Before he had the chance to apologize and grovel some more, there was a knock at the door and Mary tentatively poked her head inside. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything?" she asked sweetly. "Only I was wondering if the two of you would go into Ripon and pick up the rings before we have our dance lesson…I would ask Larry to do it, being as he's the best man and all, but you know I can't trust him not to muck it up somehow…"

Tom sighed quietly before pasting on a smile. "Sure, Mary. We're happy to do it. Just tell us where the jeweler's is—"

"Oh, Sybil knows, don't worry. She'll take care of everything," Mary said as her eyes landed on Tom. She bit her lip, but that didn't stop the giggle that slipped from her throat as one hand came up to cover her mouth. "Erm…Tom?"

Tom's heart sank. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh, I shouldn't. It's just, I thought you should know, well…You have a hickey on your neck."

* * *

The two of them managed to make it through breakfast with the others with little incident, both of them lying through their teeth pretending that everything was all right. They didn't say a single word the entire drive to Ripon to pick up the rings, nor did they speak as they made their way to the dance studio for lessons. When they arrived, Sybil had gotten so far ahead of him that Tom was trotting to keep up with her as she joined the others. The instructor was already speaking, making them join hands in a circle as she prattled on about how the wedding dance was the most important dance moment in a couple's life. It was the kind of nonsensical drivel that Tom was sure he and Sybil would have laughed at, had they been on speaking terms. He felt torn in half, part of him wanting to beg Sybil for forgiveness and the other half, which appeared to be winning at the moment, stubbornly wanting to watch her suffer as her guilt and anger ate away with her. After all, it hadn't been his idea to stop at that bloody ATM on the way home, and he wasn't the one currently giving himself the silent treatment. This was Sybil's fault, all of it. She had made her bed, and now she had to lie in it…but part of him still hated himself for not forgiving her yet.

The instructor told them to pair off, and Tom came to get into position with Sybil as music began to play. Michael Buble's voice filled the room and the two of them began to dance, both of them avoiding eye contact and their movements stiff and awkward. He glanced over to see Matthew and Mary having similar difficulties, the instructor focusing solely on them as she pointed out where Matthew should place his hands and which feet began the dance. Matthew caught his eye and grimaced, and Tom turned his attention back to Sybil, part of him determined to be as hopeless as possible in order to make her feel even more mortified by their presence here. _Sorry, my dear…love hurts, doesn't it?_

"What's the matter, princess?" Tom asked. "Two left feet? I would have thought a highborn _Lady_ like yourself would have had dance lessons from the time she knew how to walk…"

"It helps to have a partner who knows what he's doing," she fired back.

"Maybe I do know what I'm doing. Did you ever think of that? Maybe I do know how to dance." He chuckled wryly, his voice cruel. "Maybe not as well as Larry Grey, but…"

He saw her eyes narrow, and in the next moment his face contorted with pain as she stomped on his foot in her heels. He spun her away from him for a moment, wincing as he tried to work feeling back into his tortured foot yet again. When he spun her back into his arms again, their eyes were locked onto each other as they began to spin and sway together. Tom was pulling out all the stops now, trying to show off just what he could do on the dance floor in order to prove to her just how wrong she had been. As the dance progressed he felt something change between the two of them, like a shock of energy that seemed to melt their anger away. Tom's eyes never left hers as he spun her round and round, the pale blue fabric of her skirt twirling around the two of them with every movement as the song continued.

"_Other dancers may be on the floor__  
__Dear, but my eyes will see only you__  
__Only you have that magic technique__  
__When we sway I go weak"_

He saw it, that flicker of a smile on her face as they danced. Now that they were no longer fighting each other every step of the way, he realized how compatible they were on and off the dance floor. She seemed to anticipate every move he made before he made it, allowing her body to move easily with his as they twirled and dipped. Over his shoulder he saw Matthew and Mary beginning to get the hang of it as well, but somehow he didn't feel as if they were half as good as he and Sybil. He winked at her as he spun her beneath his arm, that radiant grin that he loved so much back on her face. When he was certain she was least expecting it, he reached down to the backs of her knees, sweeping her off her feet and up into his arms. He held her cradled against his chest as if they were the heroes of some fairytale story, her feet dangling off the ground as he spun round and round with her in his arms. She shrieked delightedly, begging to be set down again, but her arms were tight around his neck as if she didn't want to be parted from him any more than he did. He spun them faster and faster, his eyes never leaving hers…

"_When we dance you have a way with me,_

_Stay with me,_

_Sway with me."_

* * *

The lesson seemed to fly by far too quickly for Tom's liking, and before they knew it Mary and Matthew had been pronounced ready for their wedding dance. On the way out, Tom took hold of Sybil's wrist gently, making her meet his eyes. "Sybil?" he asked, his voice hesitant, worried that the moment they walked out those doors and back into the real world, whatever spell the studio had cast upon them would be broken and they would return to fighting again.. "We…we're all right, aren't we?" His eyes implored her, begging him to give him an honest answer, even if it wasn't the one he wanted to hear…

She studied him for a moment, a thousand possibilities dancing in those blue eyes of hers. Then she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Tom's neck, leaning towards him until their lips met. This kiss was once again different than their others had been—it was a kiss of apologies and hopes for the future , or so Tom hoped—a kiss of gentle passion that intensified slowly as her tongue reached out to shyly part his lips. By the time they broke apart, Tom was having difficulty catching his breath.

Sybil's eyes opened slowly, a smile spreading across her face. "Does that answer your question?" she whispered.

Tom smiled back. "It's a start, love," he replied as he took her hand. "It's a start."


	10. Chapter 10

_**Author's Note: Hi everybody! I am SO sorry it's been such a long wait for this chapter! I had a busy week with the play I'm in doing tech week and opening night, I was working a little last week as well, and things just kept getting in the way. I hope this chapter was worth the wait, though, and thank you so much for sticking with me and supporting this story! My readers are the best!**_

* * *

_But according to him__  
__I'm beautiful,__incredible,__  
__He can't get me out of his head.__  
__According to him__  
__I'm funny, irresistible,__  
__Everything he ever wanted.__  
__Everything is opposite,__  
__I don't feel like stopping it,__  
__So baby tell me what I've got to lose.__  
__He's into me for everything I'm not,__  
__According to you_

-"According to You" by Orianthi

* * *

The drive back to Downton had been mostly quiet, although nowhere near as awkward as their frosty drive to Ripon had been. About halfway through the ride Tom reached over and laid a hesitant hand on Sybil's knee, his eyes darting over to meet hers in the rearview mirror as if silently asking for permission. She smiled at him in response, and he visibly relaxed. His hand stayed there for the rest of the drive, the skin of Sybil's knee tingling with warmth and making her heart race. There was something about Tom Branson that made her feel like she was sixteen years old again and experiencing a first crush. Every so often she would look over at him, one hand gripping the wheel while the other still rested gently on her leg, looking perfectly content as they made their way back home. When they got to the garage at Downton they shared a laugh as they passed by the Renault, Tom reaching out to pat one of the doors as if silently thanking the car for its discretion. Sybil giggled and rolled her eyes, taking his hand and pulling him along back towards the house.

"The wedding is tomorrow, can you believe it?" she asked suddenly, squinting a bit against the late morning sun. "I feel like this weekend has flown by…"

"Me too," Tom agreed, subconsciously tightening his grip on her hand as if it would be wrenched from his grasp at any moment. "But we've still got the wedding to get through tomorrow, that'll be fun. At any rate, Sybil…if you really want to know, I'm glad I agreed to do this. I really am."

The look on his face told her that he was glad for reasons other than the money she had promised him, and she smiled to. "So am I. For a while there I was so certain you were just going to turn me down…"

Tom chuckled. "You know what, love? So was I."

Sybil's gait slowed a bit, her eyes wide with curiosity now. "So what made you change your mind?" she asked him. "What made you say yes?"

"I don't really know," Tom admitted, their clasped hands swinging a bit as they made their way up to the house. "There was just…something in the way you looked at me in the pub that day. Something in your eyes that made me want to say yes to you. Something that made me want to…to take a chance. To bet on you."

Sybil barked out a laugh. "Let me guess what that was. Desperation?"

But Tom shook his head, reaching over to tuck a lock of Sybil's dark curls behind her ear. "I don't think so, love. I'm pretty sure it was hope."

They reached the back door of the house and Tom opened it to let her inside, holding the door like a proper gentleman would have. Sybil tried not to think of how Larry had never found the need to do such things for her, as if being considerate came naturally to Tom in a way that Larry would never be able to understand. He was Larry's opposite in so many ways, but Sybil tried not to dwell on it, not wanting to make it seem like she was either still too hung up on Larry nor becoming too attached to Tom. Tomorrow was the wedding, and after that, he would most likely leave. They would return to London and go their separate ways, and who knew when they would cross paths again? No, she couldn't get attached, not now. It would be better and easier for both of them to make a clean break…

_But,_ she realized as she watched Tom close the door carefully behind them, _what if I don't want a clean break? What if I want to…keep this going? He said I would move on when I was ready…maybe I'm ready now._

"There you are!" came Cora's voice the minute they were safely inside. "Mary and Matthew got back a few minutes before you did. From what they told me, the lesson went pretty well." She crossed to Sybil and kissed her on the cheek before turning to Tom. "Mary tells me you're quite the dancer."

Tom gave a bashful smile. "I do what I can, Mrs. Crawley."

Cora waved her hand at his formality. "Tom, for the last time, you can call me Cora. You're dating Sybil, we're practically family already."

"He just forgot, Mama," Sybil said, coming to his rescue. "Right, Tom?"

"Exactly,"

Cora's blue eyes, so much like Sybil's, sparkled with mirth. "Well, I guess I can forgive you just this one time—if you promise me one dance at the wedding tomorrow. The way Mary was raving about you, it seems like we have a real Fred Astaire on our hands. I don't want to miss out on that."

Tom chuckled. "I wouldn't go that far, but you've got yourself a deal, Cora."

"Fantastic! Looking forward to it. I can't believe there's just one more day to go…" Cora smiled at the two of them, and Sybil noticed that her eyes were growing slightly misty. Sybil's brow furrowed in concern. "Mama?" she asked gently. "Is something the matter?"

But Cora just shook her head, blinking back tears. "No, of course not," she said quietly. "I just…I can't believe your sister's getting married. You all grew up too fast…" Sybil opened her mouth to speak, to try to offer some sort of comfort, but Cora cut her off. "I'm fine, really. You two should go relax a bit before the big picnic. I'll see you later, okay?" She kissed both of them on the cheek again before going off, saying something about wanting to see where Robert had gotten to. Sybil was left staring after her, wondering if she was supposed to follow or just leave her mother alone for the time being.

"They all get like that," Tom said gently, taking Sybil's hand again. "You should have seen my mother when my sister got married. She'll be all right, though, trust me. She just needs time…"

Sybil gave a nod, still watching Cora as she disappeared around the corner. "You're probably right. Come on, let's get upstairs before Mary gives us another job to do for the wedding…"

They retreated upstairs and into Sybil's room, where she immediately flopped on her back onto the bed. Tom smiled at her, coming to lay beside her atop the covers, their fingertips barely brushing when he set his arms at his sides and settled himself down onto his back. "You know what pisses me off?" Sybil asked suddenly, her eyes fixed on a hairline crack in the ceiling.

Tom chuckled. "A great many things, I'm sure…"

"No, really, I'm serious! You know what I hate? I feel like this whole weekend has been about me. I've done nothing but talk to you this whole time—about myself, about this mess with Larry, about my family—it's like I've been spilling my guts all weekend and I don't know anything about you. I know that you write for a newspaper, you're trying to publish a book about the Easter Rising, and your brother works as a mechanic in Liverpool. Oh, and you hated uni at first and you won some contest for Halloween one year. That's it. I don't know a single thing about you other than that…"

She glanced over and saw Tom smile faintly, his eyes half-closed. There was a pause for a moment, as if he were thinking something over before he spoke. "I have a congenital heart murmur," he said finally. Sybil sat up, looking at him in alarm. "Don't worry, it's benign. My mam used to be a nurse, though, so she makes me take medication for it and get regular checkups just in case. So there, that's one thing you know about me. I double majored in journalism and creative writing at uni, but I had to fight my mam every step of the way in order for her to finally give her approval about the writing thing. She's my biggest fan now, but ten years ago…" He chuckled to himself, remembering the explosive fights with his mother that would cause the rest of his siblings to scatter until the coast was clear. "Let's see, what else…I'm the second oldest of seven, did you know that? One older brother, two younger, and three younger sisters."

"Wow," Sybil said, genuinely impressed. "That's a lot. Sometimes I wonder how my parents managed with just three."

Tom grinned. "Good Catholic family, that's what we are. And to be honest, my dad worked most of the time and wasn't really around much, so us kids…well, we were sort of raised by the village anyway, the lot of us. My sister Kathleen, who comes right after me in the family, she's married with two little girls. I'm godfather to one of them, her name is Maeve…God, I adore that kid."

Sybil smiled, noticing how Tom's face had become softer when he had begun to talk about his family. She had always suspected that family was important to him, but seeing it for real was another matter entirely. It was as if his entire being had lit up with pride, almost the same way it had when she'd asked him about his book. "What else?" she asked softly.

Tom smiled and bit his lip, thinking hard. "Hmmm…don't laugh, but some of my favorite movies are _Braveheart, _any of the James Bond films_…_and _Love Actually._ Real men admit their love for romantic comedies, Sybil. Never forget that." He shot her a look that all but oozed confidence, and Sybil had to bite her lip to keep from giggling. "I'm allergic to tomatoes…oh, when I was a kid, I used to tell my little sisters stories to help them fall asleep at night. They liked my bedtime stories better than anything mam or dad ever read to them. That's the first thing that made me realize that I could maybe be a writer, that and a teacher of mine who encouraged me. Good old Mrs. Callahan, still remembers to send me a Christmas card every year…not enough for you, Crawley? Want more? Let's see…it probably makes me a failure as an Irishman, but I can't stand James Joyce, his books put me to sleep every single time, and…"

He had turned sometime during his speech so that they were lying facing each other, their faces only a few inches apart. Sybil's heartbeat sped up, and she wondered if his was too, murmur and all. "What?" she whispered, her voice breathy.

"And, Sybil Crawley…I think I'd miss you even if we never met."

Now Sybil was finding it even harder to breathe. Her eyes were locked onto Tom's, but his were fixated on her lips as if it were the first time he was seeing her all over again. When she instinctively leaned in closer to him, he followed her, until their lips were only a hairsbreadth apart, almost brushing each time they took a breath. Sybil's heart was about to burst out of her chest. She leaned forward again, her lips just touching his…

And was startled away by an excited knock at the door. "Come on, you lovebirds, get a move on!" came Matthew's voice through the wood. "They're ready to get the picnic started up! Come on, no time to waste—I'm getting married in the morning!"

Sybil wasn't sure how or when, but somehow, her future brother-in-law was going to pay for this.

* * *

By the time they got outside, the picnic was in full swing. Sybil had changed from her dancing dress to a more casual white sundress, and Tom had replaced his button-down shirt for a polo. Matthew, at Martha's suggestion, had decided to turn the picnic into a full-on American-style barbecue and was manning the grill while Shrimpy gave unhelpful suggestions next to him. The air was thick with the smell of smoke from the grill, drinks were flowing in full force, and Martha had set up a round of poker at one of the tables that was quickly growing interesting. Sybil sat between Tom and her father, with Edith, Anthony, and Martha across from them. Nearby, Cora, Mary, and Violet were looking through an old photo album. Rose was nowhere to be found.

"Well, my hand is complete crap," Edith said, slamming her cards down onto the table with a laugh. "I surrender."

Robert seemed more confident in his abilities, for he accepted Martha's most recent bet. Sybil bit her lip to hide the smile as she glanced down to her own hand. Anthony folded as well, but Tom, apparently sure of himself, remained in the game. Sybil opened her mouth, preparing to swoop down upon her victory, when on the table beside Tom his cell phone began to ring. Tom blushed and apologized, preparing to reach for the phone, but Robert pounced before he got the chance, picking it up with the same teasing manner he would if it were Matthew's phone instead. "Allow me to get that for you, Tom," he said with a wink. Sybil's face reddened.

"Papa, give that back to him!" Sybil protested, but Robert had already answered the call, keeping his cards in his lap where no one could see them. "Hello?" he asked cordially, as if it were his mobile he was answering instead of his daughter's fake boyfriend. "Who is this? I'm sorry, Tom cannot come to the phone right now, he's too busy trying to win all of my money."

That produced a chorus of laughs around the table, and even Sybil found that she had to smile. Robert listened for another moment before he ended the call, placing the phone back on the table. "Who's Edna?" he asked delicately, casting Tom a curious look.

Suddenly Sybil's breath caught painfully in her throat. Who _was_ Edna? Oh, God, could Tom have a _girlfriend_ that he hadn't told her about? Had Sybil, in her desperation, hired someone for this crazy charade who was actually involved with someone already? _And oh God, I slept with him…and I enjoyed it. Am I the other woman? You bastard, how could you not have mentioned something like that?! Jesus, Tom, all that time telling me about yourself today and you neglected to mention that little detail? Sure, I'll tell you everything about my likes and my allergies and my sibling's kids, but I'll keep mum about my sweet little girlfriend back in London…_ As Sybil stared at her hand of cards, trying to hide her anger and mortification, she could just picture this Edna in her mind…perky and blonde, with a whining little voice as she spoke to Robert on the phone…_God, Tom, I'm going to kill you! Why didn't you say anything? Why did you let me sit here and make a fool of myself like this?!_

Sybil wasn't sure who she hated more at that moment: Tom, herself, or Edna.

But Tom only smiled, making Sybil relax just a bit. "Edna Braithwaite. She's a junior editor at my paper. Well, sort of. She works for my editor, kind of like an assistant, and she thinks that gives her the right to bombard me all the time about my deadlines. She's an okay kid, but she can be a bit….persistent. Don't worry, though, my boss already has my article for this week. He must have just forgotten to tell her, so she decided it was her civic duty to bother me about it on my vacation."

"I know how that goes," Robert said with a sympathetic chuckle. "She just said to call her back when you get the chance. No harm done. Now, I believe we were in the middle of a game?"

Sybil grinned broadly, setting her cards down on the table for them all to see. "Looks like I win this round…" The others began to protest at her full house as she eagerly scooped up her earnings, and Martha began to gather up the cards for a new game. She caught Tom's eye and he threw her a wink, silently congratulating her on her victory.

"Has anyone seen my daughter?" came Susan's clipped voice, interrupting the chatter of the game. "She went inside to get another drink or something like that and now she's disappeared. She's missing out on all the fun, and I will not have her spending the rest of this weekend sulking in her room. She's enough of an embarrassment to me right now as it is-"

"Want me to go and find her, Susan?" Sybil offered, beginning to stand up before Susan could launch into another verbally abusive tirade about her daughter while she wasn't there to defend herself. Rose could be a handful, but Sybil had never really understood why Susan was so hard on her all the time. She hated to leave the game for the moment, but if that was what it took to shut Susan up for the time being, Sybil figured it was a sacrifice she was more than willing to make.

To her surprise, though, Tom stood up as well. "No, you stay with your family," he told Sybil, leaning down to place a sweet kiss on her lips "I can go hunt down Rose for you. I'll be back in a few minutes if I can't find her."

"You sure?" Sybil asked him.

He nodded and kissed her again, and Sybil had the feeling that it was more because he wanted to than to keep up the charade as it usually was. Or maybe she just hoped that he wanted to kiss her again. "Positive. I'll be right back, okay? Keep on winning for me."

"I'll try."

She watched him walk away back towards the house, feeling the eyes of her father on her as she did so. Robert cleared his throat, making Sybil look over at her. "I like him," he began, sounding a little sheepish, as if he were embarrassed for being too quick to judge Tom earlier. "I didn't think I was going to, but I do. You and Tom…you work well together."

"You really think so?" Sybil asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

"I really do, my dear. And I'm happy for you."

Sybil blinked back tears much like her mother had done earlier, forgetting for the moment that she and Tom didn't even have a relationship for her father to be happy about. She leaned over and kissed his cheek, smiling as she pulled away. "Thank you, Papa."

* * *

Tom didn't know how Sybil had managed to grow up here and turn out as relatively normal as she had, that was certain. Downton Abbey was beautiful, yes, but the longer he stayed the more he began to notice its flaws starting to emerge. Most pressing at this moment was the fact that the estate was just so damn _big_.

He had been in all the rooms on the first and second floors of the massive estate, going up and down stairs and peeking into sitting rooms, TV areas, guest quarters, and god knows what else. Why would one family of five people need so many rooms in the first place? Downton seemed like it would be the perfect setting for a good old-fashioned game of hide-and-seek, but when you were actually trying to find someone, it seemed like torture. Rose was nowhere to be found, just like her mother had said. Tom was beginning to think she'd taken one of the cars and drove into the village for a bit, seeking some solitude away from all the relatives and servants. At this point, Tom wouldn't have blamed her. He was about to give up and join the others out on the lawn when he heard voices coming from the direction of the garden, and turned to follow the source of the sound.

He could hear Rose saying something that he couldn't quite make out, followed by a deeper, obviously male voice. As he came closer, the conversation became more audible, and he rounded the corner just in time to hear Rose's rather tearful voice say, "What do you want from me?"

He could see Rose standing with Larry at the end of the path, looking up into his eyes. He held her gently by her wrists, forcing her to look up at him, and Tom felt his jaw clench. It was one thing for Larry to have hurt Sybil the way he did, but if he thought he was going to get away with laying a hand on her cousin like this…

"I want you to tell me—" Larry began before Tom cleared his throat. Immdiately he dropped Rose's hands as if her touch burned him, running his fingers through his hair as if nothing at all was the matter. "Hey, Tom," he said casually.

"Hey, yourself," Tom replied, his gaze hard and his tone suspicious. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. Just wanted to ask Rose here if she thought I should wear a blue or a white shirt for the rehearsal dinner tonight. No matter, though. I can just ask Matthew. The food's probably ready, anyway, and I'm starving…see you around." With that, he fled, leaving Tom glaring after him in his wake.

Slowly, Tom turned back to Rose, his eyes roving over her to make sure that Larry hadn't truly done anything to hurt her. "Are you all right?" he asked her gently. "What was that about?"

"Nothing," Rose snapped, brushing past him. "Just leave me alone, all right?"

"Look, Rose, you can tell me. Whatever it was…I've been told I'm a good listener. And I barely know you, so I won't have enough information to judge you for it, whatever it is." He tried to smile, but Rose just sniffled and wiped another tear away.

"Oh, you'll judge me, all right."

"No I won't. Come on."

"I can't!" she cried out, startling him with the intensity of her voice. "I can't, because you're one of the only people here who don't already know…who don't hate me. If I tell you, you'll be like the rest of them. You'll hate me for what I did."

Tom reached out a hand to her, setting it on her shoulder. She flinched, but made no move to pull away as he led her over to a bench and sat her down. "I won't hate you, Rose," he said, his voice soft as if speaking to a child. "I hardly even know you, so I can't hate you. You can tell me…come on. It might do you some good."

She eyed him warily. "You have to promise you won't say anything to anyone. Not even Sybil…"

He frowned a bit at that, but nodded. If everyone already knew, as she claimed, what difference did it make whether he kept mum about it or not? Still, he found himself nodding anyway. "I promise, Rose. Now, just tell me…"

* * *

"Sybil, can I have a minute?"

Larry's voice startled Sybil, who had gone over to look at the photo albums and reminisce with the others while Matthew, Shrimpy, and a few of the servants worked to dish out the food for lunch. She stared at him, wondering what in the world he wanted to talk to her about before she remembered his text message to her the day before. "I…" she stammered, not knowing what to say.

"Let's see," Martha said, speaking for her. "You stole two years of my granddaughter's life with your bullshit and your charm-"

"And your lies," Cora chimed in helpfully.

"Really, it was more than two years, when you count the time since now and the breakup," Violet added, fixing Larry with a venomous look.

"More than that, even, considering how long we've known him," Mary added. "So you took all that from Sybil, and now you want just one more minute? Sure. Why not?"

Larry's mouth had fallen open somewhere during this lecture, caught off-guard by being scolded by three generations of women all at once. Without a word he turned and fled, apparently expecting Sybil to follow him. She stared at her family, somewhat at a loss for words and torn between wanting to thank them and demand what they were thinking. Finally, she sighed, picking up her drink from where she left it on the arm of Violet's chair. "I appreciate the help, I really do. But next time, could you maybe let me fight my own battles? Thanks." With that, she turned to follow Larry.

He hadn't gone too far, just enough so that they wouldn't be overheard. The moment Sybil approached him he began to speak, nearly stumbling over himself in his haste. "Sybil. Listen. I feel like I haven't been being entirely honest with you, and there's something that's been eating away at me. I think I owe you an explanation for what happened six months ago and…Sybil, are you even listening?"

She wasn't.

Over Larry's shoulder, Sybil had spotted Tom coming out of the gardens. The look on his face was something she had never seen before, anger and disbelief and most importantly, something that looked like sadness in his eyes. He looked like someone whose dog had just died or worse, and in that moment Sybil knew she had to go to him to find out what was wrong. "I'm sorry, I'll be back in just a second…" she said, not even looking at Larry as she brushed past him and ran over to where Tom stood, watching the party as if unsure whether he was welcome there anymore. She could feel Larry's eyes boring a hole through her head, but she didn't turn back. When she reached Tom she immediately laid a hand on his arm, her eyes etched with concern. "Hey," she said softly. "Is everything okay? You look like…is something wrong?"

Tom looked at her a long moment, and Sybil noticed that something new had come into his eyes…something that looked a lot like pity. Finally, he shook his head.

"I'm fine, love," he said, reaching out to lay a hand on her cheek. Impulsively, Sybil turned her head to the side just enough to kiss his palm, wondering if that might serve to calm him down. Whatever had upset him, he would tell her in his own time, or so she hoped. "I'm fine…" he repeated, drawing her close and wrapping his arms around her, holding her so tightly Sybil could feel his heart beat beneath his shirt. She relaxed into his embrace as he kissed the top of her head. "Let's go rejoin the party before Susan sends out another search party…"

"If you're sure…" Sybil said, keeping one arm around him as they began to walk back. "Did you ever find Rose?"

For just a second, she thought she saw his expression harden. "Nope," he said simply. "She'll probably turn up sooner or later."


	11. Chapter 11

_**Author's Note: All of your questions—or most of them—are answered in this chapter, which also comes with an Angst Warning (Next chapter will have an Angst Warning as well, for future reference). I hope you enjoy it anyway, and don't decide to come after me with pitchforks! ;)**_

* * *

_You loved me cause I'm fragile_

_When I thought that I was strong_

_But you touch me for a little while_

_And all my fragile strength is gone_

_Set me free, leave me be_

_I don't wanna fall another moment into your gravity_

_Here I am and I stand so tall_

_Just the way that I'm supposed to be_

_But you're onto me,_

_And all over me_

-"Gravity" by Sara Bareilles

* * *

"So there we are, Edith is screaming at the top of her lungs, and the meanwhile car is busy careening down the front drive at Loxley, completely out of control…"

"Tom has to hear the sparkler story—Edith, come on, now, it's funny! I have to initiate Tom into our family somehow…Oh, darling, don't look at me like that. Now, Tom, one year the whole family came down to visit me in Newport for Fourth of July weekend…"

"Matthew, did Mary ever tell you about the time…"

"She didn't realize that Edith was behind her, and Mary turned around and the sparkler in her hand singed Edith's eyebrow_ clean_ off…"

"_Grandma!"_

"More wine, anyone?"

"So she _finally_ steps on the brake and we skid to a stop right in front of my mother's prize hedges, but the damage had already been done…to this day we still can't get any grass to grow where the tire marks are…"

"I'm happy to say she's much improved now—the eyebrow, as you can see, grew back without any problems—"

"Mary looks right at me and says—"

It was just after seven, and the rehearsal dinner was well under way. At Matthew and Mary's request the dinner had been served on the lawn, tables shoved together under a massive tent that had been set up to protect them from the rain that threatened to fall from the clouds that had rolled in after that afternoon's picnic. Every few minutes a distant roll of thunder would sound, but no one seemed to be paying much attention to the weather. All around them the guests were drinking, laughing, and—so it seemed to Sybil, anyway—apparently locked in a fierce competition with each other to see who could tell the most embarrassing family story. The dinner plates had been cleared away and dessert was about to be served at any moment, but no one seemed in a big hurry for it to arrive. Everyone was too preoccupied with having fun, and Sybil had to admit that this might have been the most relaxed she had felt since the dance lesson this morning. She was seated next to Tom, who had one arm slung over the back of her chair as if there were no other way he would rather sit. Whenever he moved to gesture or take another sip of his wine, his arm would brush against Sybil's bare skin in her black backless dress—the very same one that Tom had enjoyed so much when she had modeled it for him in the pub, trying to find the perfect outfit for the cocktail party—and cause goosebumps to erupt across her flesh. Sybil didn't care. She was actually finding, in spite of everything, that she liked it. Every time their hands would brush she would be reminded of their night in the Renault, the very thing that had so mortified her a mere twelve hours before now serving to nearly make her feel hot and bothered all over again. It had been months—years, really, if she was being honest with herself—that she had felt the same kind of connection, physical or otherwise, that she felt with Tom Branson. If she really was going to have to give that up when the weekend was over, then she was going to enjoy every second while she still could.

_And of course,_ that little voice in the back of her head kept reminding her, _no one's saying you have to give it up at all…_

A small smile played at the corners of Sybil's mouth as she turned to watch him, idly sipping from the glass of wine in her hand. She seemed to notice everything about him in a way that she had never done before…the way the skin around Tom's eyes would crinkle just slightly when he laughed, how he would lean in listening intently as Anthony told the story of how they all worked together to teach Edith to drive all those years ago, the way every time he laughed at one of the many humiliating anecdotes her relatives had to offer his gaze seemed to flicker back to Sybil a bit, as if he were trying to see whether she was laughing too…the way that whenever he looked her way, his eyes still had the same sweet warmth that she'd seen when he'd taken her out of the rain into the pub that first day they had met. It seemed like every time she looked at him, he would do something to remind her that in all her years she had never met someone quite like Tom Branson before. He had done the impossible, it seemed, reached out and broken through the walls that she had spent six months carefully constructing. Her smile grew faraway as she thought back to last night in the garage, how he had kissed her so hesitantly at first, trying to make sure she really wanted this. How the kiss had quickly escalated, making her feel things she hadn't for so long…it all came rushing back to her at once, and she found a blush creeping up her cheeks as she watched him, a thousand things she wanted to say to him swirling through her head…

"Would anyone like anymore wine?" her father's voice startled her out of her reverie, and she looked to see that all the bottles at their table seemed to be empty thanks to seemingly endless toasts and refills—not that anyone was really complaining. "Where's William got to?" Robert asked, craning his neck to try to get a glimpse of the boy. "He should be bringing up some fresh bottles by now…"

Sybil's eyes darted down to the very end of the table, noticing immediately that Daisy's seat was empty. She had arrived only a few hours before, and Sybil knew that William had been trying to get her alone ever since. "I'm sure he'll be back in a minute, Papa," she jumped in quickly, wanting to cover for the hopeful couple who had waited long enough to finally get together. "He's probably just gone to use the bathroom or something—you work him too hard, Papa, honestly," she said, mock-scolding him as he began to protest. "You just stay there. I'll get the wine myself. I'll be back in five minutes."

"Sybil, really, there's no need. William can get it whenever he gets back—"

"No, I don't mind, honestly. It'll be nice to stretch my legs anyway. Really, it's no trouble. You just stay here and enjoy the party. I'll be right back."

"Need a hand, love?" Tom offered, standing up halfway as Sybil got to her feet.

She smiled down at him, shaking her head. "I think I can manage. You stay and have fun. I'll be back in a minute." She turned to go, but something stopped her, and before she knew it she was leaning down to brush a kiss across his lips. He seemed surprised at first, apparently not expecting a kiss right at that moment, but after a moment's hesitation he kissed her back. His lips tasted sweetly of wine, and Sybil had to force herself to pull away before anyone started to tease the two of them. Martha, she was sure, was already eyeing them and preparing some sort of witty remark in her head. She smiled down to Tom before slipping back into the house, hurrying down to the wine cellar, wanting to grab a few bottles and return as quickly as she could before she missed anything…

Tom watched her go, a blissful smile on his face. Robert caught him staring and smiled. "What are you so happy about?"

Tom chuckled, turning his eyes on the Earl. "This…this may not make much sense to you, sir, but if you would…I'd like to ask your permission to date your daughter."

* * *

She was at the staircase when she ran into Larry, who immediately offered to help her with the wine. She considered a moment, ignoring the warning bells that were going off in her head already. It didn't really seem fair to let Larry help her out when she had already said no to Tom—how much help did one really need fetching a few bottles of wine, really—but she was already halfway to the cellar and she was having a hard time thinking of a good way to say no. Besides, she had completely blown him off at the picnic today…

He probably didn't deserve another second of Sybil's time, just like Edith had said. But maybe talking to him was the final thing Sybil needed to do in order to move on. At the very least, she figured it was worth a try.

"Sure, that'd be great," she said, gesturing for him to follow her.

They didn't say a word as they made their way down to the wine cellar, silently making their selections of well-aged bottles from the dusty shelves. It was Larry who finally spoke, his words seeming to echo through the small, cramped room. "We never got to finish our talk at the picnic today," he said hesitantly, glancing over his shoulder at her. "And you never responded to my text…"

Sybil bit her lip, glad that she was still facing away from him so he wouldn't see the guilty look on her face. "Yeah…sorry about that, I just…"

"Well, I really was hoping to talk to you…all weekend, actually, only I haven't gotten the chance. So I thought—"

"Look, Larry," Sybil said, cutting him off as she turned to face him with what was perhaps the first genuine smile she had given him in months. "You don't need to do this. Really, I'm…I'm okay. You don't need to explain anything to me."

He seemed to wince, as if Sybil's words had caused him pain. "No, Sybil, I really think I do…"

"No, I'm serious. Everything that happened between us, it was months ago, Larry. We don't need to go digging up the past again. To be honest, ever since I got here, I've been realizing that…" She chuckled as the words came to her, surprised by just how true they were. The feeling had been growing ever since she had snogged Tom in front of Larry, she had just been too afraid to voice it until right now."Honestly? I'm _sick_ of you and me. Of our whole damn sob story, of everything that happened back then and how we keep dwelling on it now...or, at least, how I kept dwelling on it all this time. I just want to move forward, okay? I'm not interested in going back. Not anymore, not…not ever." Suddenly she felt lighter than she had in ages, like all the words she had held in for so long had been doing nothing but weighing her down all this time. "So let's just put all that behind us and try to enjoy the rest of the weekend, okay—starting with our dessert. Come on, they'll be wondering if we got lost if we keep them waiting any longer." She smiled at him and turned to go, already imagining Tom's face when she told him about this conversation, how proud of her he would be…

"I slept with your cousin," Larry blurted out the moment Sybil's back was to him, as if he were physically incapable of holding the secret in any longer. "I…damn it all to hell, Sybil, I'm sorry. I can't…I can't go another day without telling you. It's eating me alive, Sybil. I slept with your cousin. I slept with Rose."

She froze in her tracks.

Suddenly the walls of the wine cellar seemed to be suffocating her, closing in around her until she was crushed under their weight, or was it her lungs themselves that were constricting so painfully it was impossible to breathe? _I slept with Rose. I slept with Rose…_His words echoed through her mind, so frantic and so matter-of-fact, so _cold_ at the same time that Sybil felt her own blood freeze in her veins. Sybil tried to swallow, but her mouth seemed to have gone dry as powder. She tightened her now sweaty grip on the wine bottles, afraid that if she did not they would slip from her hands and shatter, joining her heart on the floor. And then what would she tell her father? How could he possibly understand that she had destroyed two bottles of his best vintage wine because Larry had essentially broken her heart all over again?

No. This couldn't be real. None of this could be real. It couldn't…

But it was. Six months of tearing her hair out as her heart lay in pieces on the floor, of beating herself up as she went over and over in her mind what she could have done wrong, how she could have pushed him away, had all come to this. Six months of trying to find herself again after Larry Grey had shattered her heart had been for nothing, because apparently he wasn't finished torturing her yet. He had destroyed her all those months ago, and piece by piece she had tried to put herself back together. She still wasn't finished yet. She had thought that bringing Tom into her life had been the start of finally finishing the puzzle, but now Larry had broken her again, perhaps even worse than last time.

For six months, Sybil had wanted to know the reason why Larry had shattered her heart with no warning before her very eyes. Now, she had finally gotten her wish. The phrase 'be careful what you wish for' had never resonated with her so strongly as it did right now.

"Wh—what?" she croaked, unable to look at him, to think, to breathe when she could feel his eyes on her like that.

Larry was still talking, his words seeming to go in one ear and out the other for all that Sybil was concerned. He was stumbling over his own tongue, as if he had rehearsed this speech a hundred times and still not gotten it right. Dimly, almost sadistically, Sybil wondered if he had practiced his best man toast for tomorrow as often as he had practiced his adulterous confession to her. Now, all of a sudden, everything seemed to make sense—his text, now so far away it was as if it had been sent in another lifetime, the way he was so jumpy at the picnic when he had pulled her away from the others. Sybil realized with a start that he had been trying to tell her this, this horrible secret that made her feel as if someone was squeezing her heart until it burst, from the moment he had seen her at the cocktail party with Tom. _Oh God…_

He was still talking. How could he still be talking? How could there possibly be anything else in the world that he could say when he had already shattered Sybil's world with this new revelation? How could he have anything left to say to her? How? "I slept with your cousin, Sybil, with Rose. Six months ago…well, bugger, that's not right. It was eight months ago, if I'm being honest, and after all this time you deserve the bloody truth—" _Eight months? Eight months? But we …we broke up _six_ months ago…_"We didn't mean for it to happen, Sybil, honestly, but I ran into her one night when I was working late and one thing led to another, and…we were…_good_…together. So we…sort of kept at it like rabbits for a while, Rose and me." She wasn't entirely sure, but for a second it almost seemed like Larry sounded _proud_ of himself as he spoke.

Sybil was sure she was going to be sick.

"…anyway, that's why I broke it off with you. It was getting…too difficult to juggle things, and obviously, it was…morally wrong," he added as if as an afterthought. "I wanted to tell you from the very beginning…well, maybe not the _very_ beginning, but at least when we ended things, but Rose was afraid how people would react if they knew. She wanted to keep it quiet, and I really didn't want the trouble our families would cause if they knew, so I agreed. And things were, well, great for a while, but the whole time it was eating away at me. I couldn't go on without you at least knowing, and I was convinced that Rose was just a fling, and I had made up my mind to end things with her too." He grimaced. "But.. but then…"

There was an agonizing pause. Why was she still standing there? Why hadn't she gotten up and left in the middle of his tirade? Did it have anything to do with the fact that she couldn't seem to feel her legs?

"Then Rose told me she was pregnant."

Whatever was left of Sybil's heart disintegrated even more.

"And God, I tell you, I was scared. I was ready to up and run anyway, just head for the hills. I should have. If I had, none of this would have happened in the first place…at least, not all of it." Larry gave a heavy sigh, and Sybil had the sinking suspicion that for him, the worst of the story was not over. And she hated him for it. Couldn't he see that she had suffered enough? What was the point in telling her any more other than to kick her when she was already down? And more importantly, how could there be anything worse than what he had already said?

"So, like the fucking sick bastard I am, I stuck around. Maybe I'm a glutton for punishment, who knows?"

_Oh, _you_ are? _Sybil thought dully. _Well if you're a glutton for punishment, then what does that make me?_

"And things were great, for a while. We really worked well together. Until…" She couldn't see him, but she could tell that Larry's voice had hardened, becoming as bitter as Sybil's would be right now if her throat would unlock enough so that she could speak. "Until she met that new guy. You know, the bloke she brought to the cocktail party until he had to run back home to the wife? Once she met him, all bets were off. She was just using me as a placeholder until a better prospect came along, I guess. That's when she told me she'd lied the entire time we were together. She wasn't…she wasn't pregnant. There never was a baby, Sybil. There never had been. She just used that in order to get me to stay with her. And the moment someone better came along she left me in the lurch. Broke my heart, it did…"

_You have no right to talk to _me_ about a broken heart,_ Sybil wanted to say.

"But I tried my best to move on after she'd hurt me like that, you know—well, I don't think I need to tell you about moving on." She didn't know how his voice could sound so flippant during all this, as if he thought that just because she had apparently moved on herself his words no longer held the power to cut her to the core. "I even thought about giving you a call, explaining the whole thing and begging for another chance, but I think we both know that would have been beating a dead horse. I thought it would be obvious to the both of us that even without what happened with Rose—" Had his voice broken just now? Did he know that instead of making her sympathetic to his plight, all it made Sybil want to do was punch him in the face? "—that we're better off with other people. We were never really compatible, Sybil, and it was stupid of us to think that we were. Anyway, I knew you wouldn't take any of my calls even if I tried. So, I just tried to go it alone for a while, and that worked. But when I saw her on Wednesday at the cocktail party, I realized…I'm in love with her. I'm in love with Rose MacClare. And I knew it wasn't right to keep this secret from you anymore. No matter what happens, you deserve to know the truth. Sybil…oh, God, please, just say something. Say anything…"

For the first time, he actually sounded concerned for someone other than himself. Sybil didn't care. He could stand there and beg her to speak to him all day long and it wouldn't make a single bit of difference. She took a step forward, her legs wobbling a bit beneath her. When the movement did not make her collapse to the ground, she kept walking, leaving him calling after her to slow down, to wait for him, to do anything. Sybil barely heard him. Her chin was trembling and her mouth drawn tight, her eyes squeezed shut to keep the tears inside. After all that had just happened, there was no way in hell she was going to start crying in front of Larry Grey. She didn't have the strength left in her to handle that, not after the new blow she had just been dealt. She heard him start to follow her, his feet pounding on the stairs and clicking against the crisp marble flooring of the entryway, but she did not look back. She couldn't.

Sybil had thought that she was finally able to move on, just as Tom had said she would be someday, but all Larry's words had done was tear open old wounds that were still raw and healing. How stupid she had been, to think that just a few days with Tom could be enough to heal what had taken months to stop aching on her own.

She wasn't sure how, but somehow or another she made it back outside. All around her people were still laughing and talking and toasting, waiting for the triumphant return of Sybil with more wine and unaware that her entire world had just been blown to pieces by one man's confession.

For a moment, Sybil hated them.

She heard Larry run up behind her, but she didn't react. At the sound of the movement, Edith looked oer her shoulder at the two of them. One look at her little sister's stricken face, pale as a ghost with what looked like tears dancing in her eyes, and Edith was on her feet and walking over to them. "Sybil?" she asked, her eyes wide and worried. "Sybil, what's happened?"

She still couldn't speak.

Edith looked from Sybil, still holding the wine bottles helplessly in her hands, to Larry standing behind her looking about a thousand times more guilty than if someone had just caught him cheating at cricket again. Her face paled, understanding immediately. "Oh my God," she whispered, staring at Sybil in horror. "He's told you, hasn't he? He's finally told you."

Sybil hadn't thought that anything could hurt more than what Larry had just told her, but the fact that Edith had known about it all along almost knocked her breath from her lungs all over again. "You knew?" she asked in a ragged whisper.

"Sybil…" Edith looked nearly as miserable as Sybil felt. "Sybil, darling, I'm so sorry…"

She couldn't look at Edith's hazel eyes, so full of sympathy she looked as if she might burst. Sybil looked past her to Mary and her mother, all of them staring at her, noting that all of them, even Susan, even Anthony, shared the same facial expression. Only her father and Shrimpy, and to a certain extent Matthew, seemed more or less oblivious to the fact that everyone else's eyes were shining with pity for Sybil. The wine bottles finally slipped from her grasp, tumbling out of her hands to land safely on the soft grass below. They knew. They had _all_ known.

Rose in particular looked horrified as Sybil turned away, missing as Tom leapt to his feet. He darted over to Sybil, Rose at his heels. "Sybil!" Rose hissed, her tone sounding desperate already as she tried to catch up. "Sybil, please don't say anything…"

And then Tom was there, pulling her into his arms, and Sybil all but collapsed into his embrace.

She clung to him as she had never done before, burying her head in his shoulder as she tried to hide from the world and the harsh truths within it. A tiny, strangled sob escaped her throat as his arms came around her tight, cradling her head against his shoulder. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, breathing in the scent of him and ignoring the fact that all eyes were now on them. He didn't say a word, merely held her there, and Sybil honestly thought that was the best thing that he could have done. She felt safe in his arms in a way that she couldn't remember ever feeling in her life, and although she knew that a simple hug would never be able to erase the damage dealt to her that day, she figured it was as good a place as any to start.

Until Rose spoke again.

"I can't believe you told her!" she shrieked, her voice an accusation pointing directly at Tom.

And Sybil's heart stopped beating for the second time that day.

_He_ had known too? Who had told him, Rose or Larry or one of her sisters? Her grandmother, who was now shooting daggers at Larry with her eyes? Or had it been obvious enough that everyone but Sybil had been able to guess right away, leaving Sybil to go on as obliviously as ever while they all gossiped about it behind her back?

Tom had known. They had all known, but somehow none of that hurt worse than Tom. He had known, and he hadn't told her.

She pushed him roughly away from her.

For just a second she saw the flash of hurt in his eyes, and she hated herself for it. As the first drops of rain began to fall from the threatening sky above, Sybil turned away and began to walk back across the lawn, away from the house. She wasn't sure where she was going, but she had to get out of there. She didn't look back, not even when Tom called after her.

_You knew and you didn't tell me._

"What's this all about?" Robert asked his wife, utterly confused as he watched his youngest daughter walk away, half the party staring at her in her wake.

Cora shot him a sad sort of look. "Oh, Robert…now isn't the time to catch on."

"Sybil!" Tom called, but she had started to run as more thunder rolled in the distance. "Sybil, come back! Sybil…"

She ignored him. Tom swore under his breath and started to follow her, but before he had taken two steps something made him change his mind. He turned on his heel and suddenly lunged for Larry, giving him not even a moment's warning before Tom's fist collided with Larry's jaw. The punch caused pain to ricochet through Tom's hand, but seeing Larry stagger backward clutching his face as the crowd gasped in horror made it worth it.

Tom didn't give anyone a chance to reprimand him for what he had done. Shaking out his aching hand, he left Larry kneeling in the dirt and ran after Sybil.


	12. Chapter 12

**_Author's Note: As requested, the explosive aftermath! This chapter is also rather angsty, so you have been warned...BUT there is also some fun moments between Matthew and Tom, and sisterly bonding between Sybil and Mary, so I hope you like it anyway!_**

* * *

_You and I go hard at each other like we're going to war_

_You and I go rough, we keep throwing things and slamming the door_

_You and I get so damn dysfunctional we stopped keeping score_

_You and I get sick, yeah I know that we can't do this no more_

_But baby, there you go again, there you go again_

_Making me love you_

-"One More Night" by Maroon 5

* * *

"Sybil! Sybil, you've got to stop running, love…Sybil, slow down!"

She could hear his footsteps pounding behind her, almost louder than the sound of the pouring rain. The sky had opened up above them as soon as they were out of earshot of the party, raindrops mixing with the tears that fell from Sybil's eyes and down her cheeks in rivulets until she could no longer tell which was which. Now her beautiful black dress was most likely ruined, not to mention Tom's suit, not that Sybil cared. She had kicked off her shoes some time ago—God knows where they were now, and if she would ever find them again, not that she cared any longer—and now wet grass stuck to the bottoms of her feet, made filthy from the mud. She walked with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, hugging herself as if she would fall apart if she took her hands away. She probably would, after everything that had just happened. Sybil honestly wasn't sure what it was that was making her heart ache the most—Larry's confession, the way that he and Rose had betrayed her, or the way that her entire family had worked together to keep this secret from her for months. She had been so _stupid,_ she realized that now. How could she not have noticed that they were hiding something from her, every single one of them? All of it made sense now, how Larry had been trying to get her alone to talk to him since day one, the way that her sisters would look at Larry with such hatred in their eyes, the snide remarks and icy stares behind Larry's back, the way that Sybil would often get the distinct feeling when she walked into a room that they had just been talking about her. It turns out, she had been right all along. She just hadn't realized what they had been saying about her.

_How long have they known?_ Sybil thought desperately. _And why didn't they tell me? Did they honestly think I was such a mess that I couldn't handle it?_

_Of course they did, Sybil. Just look at yourself. Do you honestly think you could have handled hearing this six months ago? You can't even handle it now, for God's sake…you're pathetic, Sybil. I'm pathetic. _

Her hand came up to cover her mouth, stifling a sob that seemed to almost rip her in two as he called out for her again. "Sybil, come in out of the rain at least—damn it, Sybil Crawley, just talk to me!"

"Leave me alone!"

"Sybil, will you just _listen—"_

"Go to hell!" She kept her head bent against the pounding rain, unable to look back at him, because she wasn't sure what she would do if she saw his face right now. She knew now what it was that was upsetting her so much. She had known it all along. It wasn't just that her family had kept this horrible secret from her, but that Tom had been in on it as well. She wasn't sure how long he had known or who had been the one to spill the beans—she suspected Mary above all for some reason—but the fact that he had kept this from her along with all the others, that was what was making her heart ache so much she almost couldn't breathe.

"Sybil!" He called out again, his voice sounding exasperated this time. It startled Sybil, and she almost slipped and fell into a patch of mud. Suddenly he was there, his hand on her arm to keep her from tumbling down into the grass. Sybil tried to wrench her arm out of his grasp, wanting to get as far away from Tom Branson as humanly possible, but his grip on her wrist was too tight, refusing to let her go. "Stop fighting me!" he said, his voice gentle even if his grasp was not. "Sybil, I just need you to listen to what I've got to say!"

"Why should I?" Sybil demanded, her voice petulant as a child. "Why should I listen to one more word out of your mouth? You lied to me. You knew and you didn't tell me!"

"I never lied to you!" Tom protested. "Not once! And if you started thinking about someone other than yourself for five minutes, you would understand that!"

Sybil's mouth dropped open, and Tom winced as if he regretted his words. "Are you saying I'm selfish?" She yanked her arm away one last time, and this time he let her, allowing it to fall to her side once more. She didn't run. She stayed put, demanding an explanation.

Tom looked uncomfortable, and Sybil felt a surge of triumph. Good. Let him feel bad for what he'd done to her. It was no less than what he deserved.

"No," Tom said finally. "I'm saying most of the things you've done this weekend…could be seen as selfish. Starting with hiring me in the first place—"

"Shut the hell up," Sybil snarled. "I didn't make you do any of this. You could have said no at any time. _You_ made the choice to lie to me, to keep that from me. That's all on you."

"They_ all_ kept it from you, Sybil!" Tom cried, clearly frustrated with her now. "Every single one of them. It's your family you ought to be screaming at right now, not me. How can you be mad at me and not them? How can you judge me and not judge them for doing the exact same thing? More importantly, how can _you_ judge _me,_ the bloke you hired to pretend to be _your boyfriend_ this weekend?"

Sybil's mouth was hanging open now, and she stuttered. Her heart was aching, and her vision was so blurred with tears now she almost couldn't even see Tom through the haze. "You want to blame me? You want to call me a hypocrite? Am I hearing you right, Tom Branson?" she whispered, and this time she saw the hurt flash across Tom's face. For the first time she realized how much it pained him, too, to be involved in this fight, and she was glad of it. She wanted him to hurt just as badly as she was hurting. She wanted him to feel exactly how she felt right now, to feel the pain of being betrayed by someone she thought she cared about.

Someone that, maybe for a moment, she thought that she might even be able to love.

"You really want to blame me?" she repeated. "Fine. Let's blame me. After all, this is my fault, isn't it. If I hadn't brought you along this weekend, who knows what might have happened."

"Sybil, love, that isn't what I meant—"

"_Don't call me that!"_ she shrieked as lightning lit up the sky. "You do not get to call me that ever again, do you hear me? Never. God, I'm so stupid! Everyone was lying to me this whole weekend and I was too blind to see it! Even you! But I guess that shouldn't surprise me, should it? Not when everything we've been through since the moment I crashed into your goddamn car has been based on a lie. Just an act to fool my family, that's all this has been from the beginning. And the worst part was I _knew_ that's what it was! I knew it was a lie and I still…" Another sob escaped her throat, and she had to look away from him, because she was afraid that if she didn't, she would end up back in his arms again. She couldn't go back there, even though she wanted to. She would only get hurt again, and worse this time. She couldn't handle any more.

Tom looked as though he might be sick, staring at her with so much hurt and sadness in his eyes that it nearly took her breath away all over again. She ran her hands through her tangled mess of wet hair, letting it fall like wet ropes down her bare shoulders as her soaked dress clung to her, tears streaming down her cheeks with abandon. "Oh my God, just look at me! This _is_ all my fault, isn't it? Poor me, right? That's what you're thinking. Oh, poor little rich girl was so desperate to make her family think she was finally happy that I paid _a thousand pounds_ for a lie. For _your_ lie,the lie I let you sell to me and to everybody else along with me. And you know what the saddest part is? At the end of the day, the _only_ person at this whole damn wedding who ended up falling for it was me!"

Tom clenched his jaw and squeezed his hands into fists, hoping Sybil wouldn't notice how badly they were shaking. For a moment he wanted nothing more than to grab her and kiss her, crush his mouth against hers right there in the pouring rain and kiss her until she knew just how he felt about her and how sorry he was for lying. He wanted to admit it all right then and there, that he had been planning on refusing her payment from the moment he saw her sleeping on the train to Yorkshire, looking so peaceful and innocent with her head on his shoulder. He wanted to explain to her how amazing it had felt to sleep with her in his arms not just one night, but twice, how making love to her had been the most romantic, amazing night of his life and how ever since then all he could think about was what it would be like to do it again, not just for one more night but every night for the rest of their lives. He wanted to say those three little words, so small on their own but having such monumental power when you put them together in a sentence, that had been on the tip of his tongue since their first kiss at the cocktail party…

But he couldn't. Tom knew that he couldn't. After everything that had happened tonight, doing that would just make everything between them so much worse. So he swallowed those three words that were still begging to be set free, even though he hated to do it.

Tom's mouth was set in a hard, thin line, and if Sybil didn't know better she would think he looked ready to cry too. "You're wrong, princess," he said, but there was not an ounce of affection in the old nickname that used to drive her crazy. "You're wrong. You weren't the only person who fell for it. I did too. I thought for a while there that we maybe we could have had a future together. I guess we were both wrong, weren't we?" Above them, another roar of thunder almost shook the ground beneath their feet, and Tom looked away.

"You should get inside," he said, his tone flat and emotionless, for he knew that if he showed even the slightest bit of emotion he would give himself away. "You don't want to catch cold before the wedding tomorrow. Can't have your nose looking all red and swollen in Mary's wedding pictures, can you, princess?" Now the nickname almost seemed to mock her. "Look, I'm sorry, Sybil. For what it's worth, I'm sorry for everything."

Sybil was still reeling from his previous confession about the two of them falling for the lie as he turned away. "Tom," she whispered, her voice ragged, but he was already walking away from her and out of her life.

"Goodbye, Sybil."

* * *

The moment he had gotten inside, he had stormed up to her room and begun to pack, needing to get out of there as soon as possible. It would be too painful for him to stay after everything that had just happened to tear his heart out, Tom knew. Now, suitcase in hand, he was trying to sneak out as quickly as possible, not wanting to draw anyone's attention. If he could just get out of here without anyone noticing, he could avoid any awkward questions…

"Tom!" Matthew called out, startling him so much he almost dropped his suitcase. He turned around, and the groom ran outside, still in his suit from the party earlier. "Tom, where are you going?" His blue eyes flashed from the suitcase in Tom's hand back up to his face, begging for an explanation, and Tom remembered that unlike the rest of them, Matthew didn't know the whole story of what had happened between Rose and Larry. Rose had told him that Matthew only knew the bare minimum, none of the details and nothing about Rose's false pregnancy. She hadn't explained why, only that Matthew had a certain fondness for Rose, almost like a need to protect her as a brother would, and she couldn't bear to have her actions in the past make him think less of her now. It was a horrible reason to keep it from him, and Tom had had enough of secrets tonight to last him a lifetime. But he couldn't bring himself to tell. He didn't have the energy in him, not after his explosive argument with Sybil out on the grounds..

Tom gave a sheepish shrug, glancing down at his suitcase as well. "It's okay, Matthew. I'm just gonna go check into a hotel. That Grantham Arms place is bound to have a room left, don't you think? It'll be better for everyone…"

"The Grantham Arms is all the way in the village!" Matthew protested. "Come on, Tom, this house is massive. Are you honestly saying that you can't stand the thought of sleeping under the same roof as Sybil for just one more night? We can put you up in one of the guest rooms. It's no trouble. You won't even so much as bump into her in the hall, I promise…"

Tom tried to smile, but the look on Matthew's face told him that he had failed. "I don't think it's a good idea, Matthew." If he could just get to a hotel, he could go online and get tickets for the first train out of there tomorrow morning, before anyone even noticed he was gone. He hated to miss the wedding, but there was no way he could stay now. It would be too painful for both of them if he did.

Still, Matthew persisted. "Come on, Tom, it's late. What are you going to do, walk there?" At Tom's glance, he gave a sigh before reaching into his pocket. "Here. At least take the car. You'll be walking half the night otherwise." He pulled out the car keys from his pocket and tossed them to Tom, who caught them deftly. He gave a grateful nod, surprised that Matthew had even offered.

"Wait," Matthew said the minute he turned to leave, as if the thought had just occurred to him. "I have a better idea. Why don't you stay in the chauffeur's cottage?"

"Chauffeur's cottage?" Tom repeated.

"It's where the chauffeur of the house used to live, way back when. It's right near the garage, you've probably seen it before. It's fully furbished and everything, it's got everything you might need, since they just use it as a guest house now." _Of course they do,_ Tom thought, almost amused in spite of himself and his anger. "Anyway, they had it all made up with fresh linens for this weekend just in case anyone wanted to stay on the estate but not in the house, or if they ran out of room inside…not that that's very likely, but they wanted to be prepared. Why don't you stay in there tonight?"

Tom shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably, thinking. On the one hand, Matthew's offer was both generous and tempting. The last thing he wanted to do after such an emotionally exhausting day was walk all the way to the Grantham Arms for a room he wasn't even sure would be available when he got there. But still, something made him hesitate. It wasn't that he couldn't stand to be on the same property as Sybil for one more night…it was that he was almost certain that she wouldn't want him there, no matter where he was staying. Even now he could still see the look in her eyes when he'd left her standing by herself in the rain, ignoring every instinct he had to stay there and explain everything to her until she'd calmed down. Part of him still hated himself for not doing it. If he stayed the night at Downton and Sybil found out about it in the morning, what would she do? Would she ignore it entirely, or—Tom hardly dared to hope, and hated himself for it the moment the thought popped into his head—would she confront him about it?

_Will I get to see her one last time?_

It was Matthew's face that finally did him in, staring at him like a hopeful puppy. Tom realized that he had actually become rather fond of the groom-to-be over the last few days. "All right, fine," he said with an amused sort of sigh, shaking his head. "But only because I don't have it in me for one more argument today. I'm exhausted enough as it is. Thanks, Matthew. I really appreciate it." Matthew grinned at him. "Right by the garage, you said, yeah?" Tom asked, tossing the keys back to Matthew, who caught them and put them safely back in his pocket as he nodded in agreement and told Tom that the cottage ought to be unlocked. "All right, then. I'll get out of your hair, let you get back to the festivities. Good night, Matthew."

He turned to go, but Matthew's voice stopped him one last time. "Tom?" he asked, sounding almost hesitant. "Look, about what happened earlier with you and Sybil…" Tom made a face, but Matthew continued as if he hadn't seen it. "I'm not exactly sure what's going on with the two of you, but I'm sure you'll work it out."

Tom tried to smile. He had almost forgotten that although Larry and Rose's secret had been revealed, the family didn't know that Sybil and Tom's relationship was nothing but a sham, a charade to make everyone think she'd moved on. "I don't know about that, Matt," he said with a sigh. "I honestly don't know."

"You can. I know you can. Trust me. Did you know Mary and I have been together for nine years?" Matthew asked, changing the subject abruptly.

In spite of himself, Tom found his eyes beginning to widen. He hadn't. Somehow between all the preparations that Sybil had given him during his crash course in the Crawley family dynamics and all of the family stories he'd been subjected to hearing over the course of the weekend, the length of Matthew and Mary's relationship had never once been brought up. He let out a long, low whistle. "No, I didn't," he admitted. "Wow. That's quite an impressive feat, I have to say."

Matthew gave a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well, it's not been nine years _continuously, _but yeah. We've had some on again-off again moments, but what couple hasn't?"

For some reason, Tom's heart clenched painfully at that. _We haven't,_ he thought, his mind automatically going to Sybil yet again. _We never even got the chance to._

"Anyway, the point of it is, I've known Sybil since she was practically a kid. I've seen all sorts of boys come and go over the years, but I'll tell you this, Tom: I've never seen Sybil look happier in a relationship before in my entire life. You make her happier than I've ever seen her, that's got to count for something! The two of you can get through this, whatever it is. I know you can. I've seen the way you look at her…the way she looks at you when she thinks no one is watching. You couldn't be more perfect together if you tried."

_But that's just it,_ Tom wanted to say. _We were trying. We just tried too hard, that's all._

But instead he just smiled, although it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Maybe you're right, Matthew," he said softly. "I should let you get back inside. Good night."

"Good night," Matthew repeated as Tom finally turned to go. "We'll still see you at the wedding tomorrow morning, though, right?"

He couldn't tell him no, not after how kind he had just been, could he? But wouldn't lying be worse? He had already hurt too many people he cared about today. Tom wasn't sure how much more he could take.

"You might, Matthew," he said with the tiniest ghost of a smile on his face. "We'll see what the morning brings."

* * *

By the time Sybil returned to the house, it was dark and the storm had long since stopped its raging. She brushed past her family in the drawing room, ignoring their pleas for her to join them so that they could talk. Finally, Cora quieted them, saying that Sybil needed time to herself for a while and they should just leave her be for right now. Sybil felt a rush of affection for her mother until she remembered that she had been in on Rose and Larry's secret too. All of them had, in one way or another. All of them had known, and all of them had lied. Sybil ran up the stairs to the nearest bathroom to dry off, not wanting to wait until she reached her own and leaving a trail of water in her wake. One of the servants could take care of it, she thought viciously. A little rainwater never hurt anyone, after all.

She stripped off her clothes, leaving them in a sodden pile on the floor as she turned on the shower as hot as it would go. She stood under the scalding water for as long as she could stand, until the steam from the water had fogged up the entire mirror and her fingertips were a wrinkled mess and her skin was tinted hot pink. Tom's words echoed around her head, conjuring up images she never wanted to relive—how his hand had felt on her arm, the hurt look on his face when she had called her a liar, how they had both come so close to admitting the one thing they had wanted to say all weekend but neither had had the courage.

_Oh, stop it, Sybil. _You_ couldn't say those words. I'm the one who couldn't admit it, not him . He never wanted to, I'm sure. How could he, after all that? How could anyone?_

She stayed under the steaming water because the stinging pain of the heat hurt worse than the pain in her heart.

Sybil hadn't heard the door open, but when she shut off the water and got out of the shower she saw that her wet clothes had been taken away and a pair of folded pajamas were placed neatly on the counter. She stared at them for a second before shrugging and pulling them on, not caring who had brought them as long as she had something to wear. She was standing in front of the mirror towel-drying her hair, staring at the reflection that she almost didn't recognize, when there was a knock at the door. Sybil didn't say a word, but the door opened anyway, and there stood Rose in the doorway.

"Hey," she said quietly.

Sybil didn't respond.

"Are you feeling any better? You were out in the rain for a long time, you must be cold…" Again, there was no response, for Sybil could not think of a single thing she wanted to say to her cousin right now, maybe ever again. She just stared at her, eyes boring into Rose's until the girl looked away, ashamed. _Good. You should be._

"I just…I just wanted to thank you for not saying anything back there," Rose said quietly. "During the dinner. It's just…my father doesn't know anything about it yet—neither does yours, and neither does Matthew, really, if that's what you're about to ask." It wasn't, but Sybil wasn't about to let her know that. "I…I _want_ to tell them, Sybil. I know I have to tell them. Just not tonight. Not the night before Mary and Matthew's wedding. I don't want this to spoil that for them…"

"No, you just let this spoil it for me," Sybil blurted out.

"Larry wasn't supposed to tell you yet—"

"That doesn't matter!" Sybil yelled, surprising herself and making Rose take a step back. "You should have told me before, Rose! You shouldn't have just let me _torture_ myself wondering what _I_ had done wrong, when all the while it was _you, _you and Larry this whole time—" She cut herself off, losing steam already. She had already argued with Tom too much today. She couldn't take any more. "No, maybe you're right, Rose. Maybe timing is everything. So while you try and think of the best way to tell the people you care about how you and Larry shattered my heart, you can stay the hell away from me, all right? How does that sound?"

Rose blinked at her in shock, and Sybil saw her baby blue eyes start to fill with tears, making her look even more like a porcelain doll than usual. Whatever she had been expecting Sybil to say, that hadn't been it. She looked genuinely hurt, and Sybil couldn't help but feel satisfaction from the fact that now she wasn't the only one suffering. "Sybil…" she whispered.

"Oh, and don't worry about tomorrow," Sybil continued, ignoring her completely."Mary's wedding is still going to be perfect, I'll make sure of that—I'll smile and nod and say all the right things, and so will you, and you can deal with everything else when you're ready. But right now, Rose? Tonight? I am not going to sit here and pretend its okay. So you can just leave me alone."

"You should listen to her," came another voice, and Sybil realized that Mary had joined them in the doorway. Rose looked from one sister to the other, at a loss for words, before she let out a tearful squeak and fled the room. Mary rolled her eyes as she scampered away, either going to drown her sorrows in vodka or to seek comfort in the arms of Larry again. She honestly didn't care to know which.

"You should go too," Sybil said dully, folding up the towel and hanging it back on the rack. "I don't have anything to say to you either. You're just as guilty as the rest of them, aren't you? You still knew and you didn't tell me."

"Darling, it would have broken you," Mary tried to reason with her. "I couldn't bear to hurt you even worse than you'd already been hurt—what would you have done?"

Sybil had no answer. "How long have you known?" she demanded, although her voice was weak, like she was already giving up.

Her sister gave a heavy sigh. "Anthony caught Rose and Larry coming out of a hotel room a week after the breakup. Then a few days after Rose let it slip that she wasn't really pregnant, Anthony accidentally drunk-dialed Edith and told her the whole story. Apparently, he was crying like a baby himself throughout the whole thing." Her tone was venomous. "He begged her not to say anything, but we all know Edith couldn't keep a secret even if she tried. She told me and Anthony, I let it slip to Mama…and it sort of went from there. Everyone knows different degrees of it, except for Shrimpy and Papa. They're completely in the dark…although I'm guessing they won't be for long. I'm so sorry, darling. I wanted to tell you so many times, but it just never seemed like a good idea…and then we all saw you so happy with Tom, and we thought maybe now that you'd moved on, it could stay buried…"

"Yeah, well, I guess Larry had different ideas."

Mary gave a wry smile. "If it makes you feel any better at all, Tom didn't let Larry get away with this unscathed. The moment you left he socked him right in the jaw. Larry went down like a sack of potatoes. Isobel looked him over and declared he wouldn't be needing any stitches, but he's now sporting a fat lip and his jaw is clicking whenever he opens his mouth, and he's going to think twice before he messes with you or your boyfriend again."

"He's not my boyfriend," Sybil said flatly. She brushed past Mary and into the hall. "And I intend to go up and tell him just that."

"Sybil, wait," Mary said, sounding uncomfortable. "Oh, Sybil, I don't know how to say this, but…Tom's gone."

Sybil's heart lurched, and the next thing she knew she was running down the hall and slamming the door of her bedroom open. She already knew what she would find, but her breath still caught at the sight of the room. Tom's suitcase was gone, and all his things along with it—the book he had been reading when he had a spare moment, the notebook he would scribble in and never let her see, his toothpaste and shampoo in the bathroom, all vanished. It shouldn't have hurt as much as it did, but she could no longer help what she felt when it came to Tom. If she was being honest with herself, she would admit that she had never been able to.

The sensation of Mary's hand on her shoulder almost made her jump out of her skin. "I'm sorry, Sybil," her sister whispered. "This isn't worth breaking up over. Larry's never been worth that. But Tom said he had to get out of here, that he couldn't stay here tonight with you so angry at him. He was going to get a room at the Grantham Arms for the night, but Matthew talked him into staying at the chauffeur's cottage…he's probably there right now. You can go and see him right now, Sybil. It isn't too late."

"But you don't understand," Sybil said in a small voice. "It is too late. It is."

"Oh, Sybil…" Suddenly her sister's arms were around her, and in spite of herself Sybil melted into Mary's embrace. "You shouldn't let this ruin things for you two…oh, Sybil, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything…" After another moment, she pulled away to look at her. "Come on. You can stay with me tonight. No, don't even argue, I won't have you sleeping in here all by yourself. I want to be there for you…it's the least I can do after everything that's happened today." She gave a tiny smile. "I'm getting married in the morning, Sybbie. Let me have one last sleepover with my little sister before I have to grow up tomorrow."

Perhaps it was the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with her, but Sybil didn't protest as Mary led her by the hand to her own bedroom. Sybil curled up under the covers, not even bothering to brush her teeth as Mary bustled about getting herself ready for bed. "I really am sorry, Sybil," she said as she stood at the sink applying moisturizer to her face. "I know it doesn't change anything, but I want you to know that I'm truly sorry, from the bottom of my heart."

Sybil was sick of apologies. She was sick of explanations and excuses and arguments. She was tired. She wanted to sleep. So she rolled over to look her sister in the eye as Mary came to bed, feeling like she'd aged a decade in the course of a single night. "It's fine, Mary. Really. I..I get why you didn't tell me. I really do. Let's just sleep, okay? You've got a big day tomorrow, after all."

"All right," Mary conceded, sliding into the other side of the bed and turning off the lamp. "Good night, Sybil."

"G'night."

"Sybil?" Mary asked a few moments later, her voice echoing in the darkness. "Can I ask you something? Why can you forgive me so easily for not telling you about Rose, but you can't forgive Tom for doing the exact same thing?"

Her words were like a shock of cold water to the face. Somehow, Mary had been able to pinpoint the exact thing that had been bothering Sybil all night. She felt hot tears prick her eyes again at the thought of her own hypocrisy. Her throat was locked once again, but for once it didn't matter. Sybil couldn't think of a single thing to say to explain herself to her sister. She squeezed her eyes shut and focused on keeping her breathing calm and even, pretending to be asleep until she could no longer feel Mary's eyes peering at her in the darkness.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Author's Note: Hello, my dear readers! I am SO sorry for the long wait for this chapter! Work and theatre and just general life stuff got in the way, but things have settled down now that the play is over. Now things are looking towards going back to school, but this fic will be finished before then. There is planned one more chapter and an epilogue (the epilogue has actually been written already, and was before even the first chapter was posted!) so stay tuned! I hope you all enjoy this and that it was worth the wait, and thank you so much for your patience and understanding in my absence! Enjoy!**_

* * *

"_Today's the day we say I do_

_And we'll never be lonely anymore"_

-"Chapel of Love" by Bette Midler

* * *

"Because we're goin' to the chapel and we're gonna get ma-a-arried…goin' to the chapel and we're gonna get _ma-a-a-rried!"_

Sybil let out a groan as the door to Mary's room creaked open, carrying the sound of her grandmother's voice along with it. Beside her, Mary rolled onto her side, apparently trying to bury herself in the covers as if that would be enough to keep Martha at bay. Sybil cracked open one eye and saw their grandmother standing in the doorway, a tray bearing breakfast in her hands as she serenaded a clearly very grumpy Mary. From just over Martha's shoulder, Sybil could see her mother, looking slightly rumpled and tired but nonetheless eager to see Mary up and about on her special day. Sybil yawned and rubbed her eyes as the two generations of Levinson women came inside, looking curious but not entirely surprised to find her there in the first place. Mary, meanwhile, burrowed herself even deeper under the covers as Martha continued to sing. "Come on, sleepyhead!" Martha crowed, handing the tray off to Cora and all but sashaying over to the bed, where she nudged Mary's shoulder playfully. "Time to get up now! Big day ahead, you know…you don't want to keep poor Matthew waiting!"

Mary let out a groan as Sybil sat up, stretching her arms above her head. She watched, amused, as her older sister curled her knees into her chest, clearly trying to be as small as possible as if that would make Martha take the hint and leave her alone. Mary Crawley was known for many things, but being a morning person was not one of them. Finally, Martha reached over and tore the covers from off of Mary's body, making her yelp. "Grandma!"

"Sorry, sweetie, but drastic measures had to be taken. Can't have you spending your entire wedding day in bed, now, can we? That's what the day after is for." Martha threw Mary a wink, making the bride roll her eyes although Sybil thought she saw Mary's cheeks turn slightly pink. As she scrambled up to sit beside Sybil on the bed, Martha, satisfied that her work was done, turned to Cora and retrieved the breakfast tray once again. "Now that we're all wide awake, how is our bride on this beautiful day? And let's not forget our maid of honor…"

Sybil glanced down just as her mother shot her an encouraging smile. She hadn't had a chance to speak to Cora last night after Larry had broken the news to her. Her blue eyes met her mother's, and Cora gave a nod that seemed to convey everything that words had not been able to the night before—understanding, sympathy, and more importantly than everything else, an apology. Sybil opened her mouth, ready to speak-

"Eat up, girls!" Martha cried with glee, setting the breakfast tray down in Mary's lap. "No time to waste, we've got a wedding to get ready for!"

Well, so much for getting things out in the open.

The next few hours passed in a blur of breakfast and showers and getting dressed, and soon Sybil, Edith, and Anna were clad in identical shades of royal purple bridesmaid dresses. Only the styles of the gowns were different, with Anna in a halter-style, Edith's sporting a sweetheart neckline, and Sybil's strapless. Every so often, one of the men would pop upstairs to check on how they were doing, crowded into Mary's bedroom taking turns at the bathroom mirror and the vanity, trying to do hair and makeup and nails in a timely fashion for the closest salon was in Ripon and had been deemed by Mary as too far to be worth the trip. The poor unfortunate—usually Anthony, who apparently kept drawing the short straw, would be turned away by a chorus of "Not ready!" and could be heard dejectedly walking away as the women chuckled. Now, Edith and Cora were working out the logistics of Mary's veil while Anna, the resident hair expert, was working on Sybil at the vanity. As she worked, Violet wandered over to observe, leaving Sybil feeling rather like she was on exhibit at some zoo. The others had seemed perfectly willing to tiptoe around the issue of Larry and Rose entirely—Rose had even insisted on getting ready on her own, apparently hoping to escape the collective wrath of the Crawleys—but Violet looked as if she'd had something to say for some time. Sybil braced herself as Anna gave her one final spritz of hairspray and straightened the flower that had been put into Sybil's dark updo. "All right, you're all set," Anna announced, and Sybil stood up. "Who's next?"

"Sybil, dear," her grandmother began as Sybil brushed past her to take a seat on the bed. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm…sorry for the unfortunate thing that happened last night at the rehearsal dinner."

Sybil's heart sank as she lowered herself onto the bed. "It's all right, Granny," she said quietly. "You didn't do anything."

"Well, of course I didn't!" Violet said indignantly. "But it's the principle of the thing! What was Larry thinking, telling you something like that in the middle of Mary's rehearsal dinner? That's nothing but bad taste, and entirely unnecessary. A story like that could have stayed hidden for years, you know, and no one would have been the worse for it. Not that I blame you, of course. What those two did was despicable, and eventually the truth would have had to come out. It always does in the end, and it's only fair. How they treated you can never be justified, but…still. They could have picked a better time, years from now perhaps, when the wounds weren't quite so fresh. It would have been better that way. After all, one way or another, everyone goes down the aisle with half the story hidden," Violet said wisely, nodding her head at Sybil as if to discourage an argument before one even began. "It's just a fact of life, my dear."

"Granny, you honestly thought I was going to marry Larry Grey?" Sybil asked, unsure whether she ought to be amused or offended by his prospect. She knew that her grandmother had always approved of her relationship with Larry—at the very least, she had warmed to it far more quickly than she had to the idea of Matthew and Mary or Edith and Anthony—but something had always told Sybil that it was more the idea of the relationship on paper that Violet approved of rather than the man himself. Maybe she had been wrong.

But Violet only chuckled, making Sybil blink in surprise. "Larry?" she asked, sounding positively tickled. She shook her head, laying a gentle hand on Sybil's arm. "No, not Larry, my dear. _Tom."_

Sybil had nothing to say to that.

* * *

Before long, everyone had gathered in the church in the village and was awaiting the start of the ceremony. Pictures had been taken, as had rather elaborate steps to keep the bride and groom from seeing each other before the start of the wedding. The three Crawley sisters, along with Anna and Rose, were waiting in the bridal suite. Cora had just left to find her seat, after giving Mary a tearful hug that had seemed to last at least a full minute and declaring that she would see them all after. Now they sat, waiting for their cue to begin their march down the aisle and doing last-minute touch-ups on their hair and makeup. Sybil was sure that if she were getting ready for her own wedding, she would be shaking like a leaf, but Mary seemed positively calm as she examined herself in the mirror one last time.

"Sorry," Sybil said as she accidentally brushed Rose's shoulder on her way to the door, checking to make sure everything was still on schedule and running smoothly.

"Sybil!" Rose cried out as if Sybil had physically wounded her. "For the love of God, can you just _stay away_ from me for just one day!" Her voice was harsh, practically a smile, and Sybil gaped at her. She hadn't realized that Rose had been so angry at her. _I didn't do anything to you. I wasn't the one who cheated on you with Larry, that was you. Or have you forgotten?_

Rose's anger seemed to deflate, but not before she had roughly sidestepped out of Sybil's way. "Just leave me alone," she grumbled.

From her spot in front of the mirror, something snapped inside of Mary Crawley.

"That does it," she said, and stood up abruptly, making a beeline for the door.

"Mary?" Rose asked, her tone one that seemed controlled to the point of near-hysteria. "Mary, what are you doing?" she hissed. She tried to block her cousin's access to the door, but Mary brushed past her as if she were not there at all, a smug look on her face. Sybil exchanged glances with Edith, knowing the look on her sister's face must mirror her own. Sybil felt a peculiar fluttering in her stomach, reminding her of the time that, unbeknownst to her, her costume had ripped right in the middle of a drama performance in school. She had had the sinking feeling that something was wrong, but at that point it had been far too late to do anything but continue the show and hope for the best. She had that same feeling now as she watched Mary stride confidently away. Part of her, deep down, knew what was coming…but she still couldn't believe it.

Edith grabbed her arm, making Sybil jump, and together they hurried to follow Mary and Rose on their way out the door. "What are you _doing?"_ Rose hissed again, her voice nearing a scream. Sybil cringed. The entire congregation would have heard that…

Mary turned just slightly, giving Rose a serene smile. "What I should have done a long time ago," she said softly before turning the corner and walking into the chapel.

There was a collective gasp from the crowd, and not just because Mary had transformed into the radiant bride everyone had always known that she would be. From the front row, Cora and Violet's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, and Robert furrowed his brow, trying to fathom why on earth his daughter would break tradition like this and appear before the start of the wedding march. Matthew, from his spot at the altar, looked stunned, and despite all that was happening Sybil couldn't help but smile at the boyish look that came over his features as he beheld his bride in her dress for the first time. Everyone was staring in earnest now, their harsh whispers seeming to echo throughout the entire sanctuary. Mary didn't seem to notice. She stood tall and proud, a leading lady ready for her moment in the spotlight, and in that moment Sybil wasn't sure whether her sister was brave or crazy. "Everyone?" she called out, her voice clear and crisp and immediately silencing the crowd. Everyone gazed, bug-eyed, at the bride, no doubt wondering if she was getting ready to call the whole thing off right before their eyes. "May I have your attention, please? I have a bit of an announcement to make."

Sybil's mouth went dry. In front of her, Rose stiffened, and for a moment Sybil half-expected her cousin to tackle Mary to the ground before she could say anything. Instead, she seemed paralyzed. _Mary…you are _not…

"As I'm sure many of you all know, the best man used to be in a relationship with my sister," Mary sang out sweetly, and Larry flinched as well. "They seemed happy—well, happy enough—but six months ago, Larry ended things. With no explanation. And while I know this isn't news to many of you, there has been far too many secrets about it in this family since then, and I want to set the record straight myself, since no one else will. Larry cheated on my sister behind her back for months. With our cousin, in fact, Rose MacClare. They were together for months in secret before he finally ended things with Sybil, and then they continued to see each other afterwards, until Rose ended things herself—after faking a pregnancy in order to make Larry stick around. She dumped him, though, in the end, just like Larry dumped Sybil. My sister knew nothing of this until yesterday, when Larry told her himself."

No one moved. No one said a word. No one even dared to breathe. Mary's words had cast a spell over the crowd, even those who had already heard the story in its varying forms themselves. Sybil allowed herself to cast a quick glance around the sanctuary. Cora looked positively proud, and Sybil swore she saw a tear glisten in her mother's eyes. Behind them, Martha was not even bothering to hide her smile. A vein was pulsing in her father's forehead, betraying his rage even though the rest of his face seemed mostly neutral. Matthew looked dazed, and Shrimpy's face was beginning to resemble and overripe tomato as his hands clenched into fists. Rose looked ashen, all the color having drained from her face. If Sybil could speak, she might have leaned over to Edith and joked that all of Rose's color seemed to have transferred to her father's, but she couldn't find her tongue. No one could.

Except Mary. She, it seemed, was far from finished.

"I realize that there are some of you here today who won't be surprised by this," she continued conversationally, as cool and collected as she always was. "Most of us, in one way or another, already knew and were keeping it from those who didn't. I'm guilty of this myself. I kept the truth from my fiancée, but more importantly…I kept it from my sister."

Sybil's breath caught in surprise as Mary turned so that she was looking only at her, and for a moment all she could think was that she had never seen Mary look more sure of herself than she did right now. "I kept the truth from Sybil because I thought I knew what was best for her. I was wrong. I was so, so wrong. And I hope she can forgive me."

Tears pricked at Sybil's eyes, clouding her vision as she struggled to see Mary through the haze. How could she not forgive her after she had basically ruined her wedding ceremony in order to set things right? She had to. Wordlessly, she nodded, and watched a smile spread over Mary's face.

Unfortunately, the calm was not to last.

"You bloody bastard!" came Shrimpy's shouted voice, making them all jump. Larry looked like a deer caught in the headlights of oncoming traffic, apparently shocked by Shrimpy's anger into paralysis. Sybil winced as Shrimpy leapt to his feet, lunging for Larry. Apparently, he was not taking the truth about his daughter's exploits very well, and for lack of someone better to blame—like, perhaps, Rose herself—he was going to punish Larry for the mess they had made together. Larry gave a rather girlish squeak that made Sybil bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud. Shrimpy grabbed for him again, and Larry took off like a shot, running down the aisle with Shrimpy at his heels, shouting obscenities and entreating him to "Come back and fight like a man, you coward! How _dare_ you take advantage of my daughter!" Matthew, after a moment's hesitation, took off running after them. Sybil felt that she knew why. Matthew had always felt a strange sort of need to protect Rose, ever since he had gotten her out of one too many scrapes in the past. Sybil wasn't sure whether her future brother-in-law was more angry with Larry, with Rose, or with himself for being so oblivious as to not have figure out the whole story on his own, but one thing was clear: Larry was going to pay the price. That is, if any of them could manage to catch him first.

Larry seemed acutely aware of this, for he sped up, his feet almost slipping on the thin carpet of the aisle. Suddenly he stumbled, pitching forward and almost falling flat on his face. He caught himself just in time, swearing colorfully and making several of the older guests gasp in shock, before sprinting out the doors. Matthew and Shrimpy were right behind him. Sybil watched in delight as Violet pulled her leg back out of the aisle, an almost too-innocent look on her face. Robert was incredulous. "Mama, did you trip him?" he demanded.

Violet smoothed her skirts and stood up, looking at her son. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said primly. "Now, shouldn't you be getting our groom back? We do still have a wedding to get to, even with all the…excitement." She caught Sybil's eye and threw her a rare wink.

Martha let out a long, low whistle. "Impressive! Wish I'd thought of that. You know, Violet, I think the two of us may have gotten off on the wrong foot…"

As Robert trotted after the other men and Violet and Martha discussed the deviousness of what Violet had just done, Edith turned to Mary. Rose was nowhere to be seen, having apparently fled during all the commotion. "Why did you do that?" she asked, sounding impressed. "You know it's bad luck for Matthew to see you before the ceremony…why did you come out and say all that now? Why not wait?"

Mary only smiled. "It would have been worse luck to go through with the wedding knowing I was keeping a secret like that from my husband. I wanted to come clean. You can't start a marriage based on secrets. They needed to know, and Sybil needed to know that I was sorry. I don't care about superstition. I care about my family."

Sybil stepped forward and threw her arms around her sister.

* * *

Nearly half an hour later, the wedding ceremony was officially late and the groom was still nowhere in sight. Sybil had snuck away from her family and was now seated on the back steps of the church, her bouquet in her lap as she idly played with the flowers. She had come out here to think, but inevitably her mind kept drifting back to Tom…

"Ah, there you are," came a familiar voice, and Sybil looked up to see her father standing before her. He had lost his top hat at some point during the chase, but aside from his slightly rumpled appearance he looked none the worse for wear. Sybil assumed he had given up fairly early in the scuffle—the Earl of Grantham had never been much for exercise that wasn't cricket or golf—but the faint pink tinge on his cheeks and the way he seemed just a little out of breath made her wonder. She forced a smile up at him, half-wishing he would take the hint and move on. Didn't he have someone else to talk to, Mary perhaps, or maybe Rose? _She's just as guilty as Larry,_ Sybil thought suddenly, almost amused at the realization. She supposed this was progress from last night, when any mention of either of them had been enough to make her lose control of her emotions entirely. Baby steps, that's what she needed in order to move on from this, starting at square one for her recovery all over again. _Rose might be even more guilty than he is, actually. Larry wasn't the one who faked a pregnancy and then dropped him cold as soon as a better offer was on the table, and yet I don't see anyone chasing her all over the county…_

"May I sit down?" her father asked politely.

So much for having a little time alone to clear her head, then. Sybil gave a minute nod, shifting over on the step so that her father could join her. He settled himself down and they sat in silence for a moment, both of them trying to think of something, anything, that they could say to the other. At that point, Sybil wasn't sure there was anything left to be said.

"Where are Shrimpy and Matthew?" she finally asked.

Robert gave a wry smile. "My guess would be still trying to chase Larry to France. I couldn't even catch up with them. I'm sure they'll turn up eventually. After all, Matthew still has to get married today." He chuckled softly, shaking his head.

"I'm..sorry you had to find out that way," Sybil said lamely. "I didn't know Mary was going to do that."

"Don't be sorry. I'm glad she did. We had to find out sooner or later…" Sybil could feel her father's eyes on her, and she turned to look at him. "Sybil, my darling, I'm so sorry. I had no idea…"

"It's all right," she whispered. "Neither did I."

"I never would have anticipated…I mean, it's ridiculous. Larry, with…Rose…" Robert huffed a sigh and shook his head again, setting a hand on Sybil's shoulder. "I'm so sorry they did that to you," he said soothingly. "Larry…he doesn't deserve you, my dear. He never did. And I'm sorry it took something like this for all of us to figure it out. You deserve so much better…" There was a pause for a moment, as if her father was silently trying to figure out how to word what he would say next. "I…I didn't see Tom in the church," he said tentatively. "Any idea what might have happened to him?"

Sybil looked down at the tops of her shoes. "I don't know," she admitted in a whisper. She knew where he had been last night, but she had been too hurt and too cowardly to go to him. Now, for all she knew, she had already lost her chance hours ago, and would never see him again. "It's complicated, Papa…so, so complicated. We..we got into a bit of a tiff last night." That was the understatement of the century, and both of them knew it, but thankfully her father did not mention it. "We fought and I…I…I think he may have gone home…" Before she could stop it, a single tear fell from her eyes and dampened the fabric of her bridesmaid dress. She held her breath, hoping it would go unnoticed.

If Robert had seen it, he at least had the tact not to say anything. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said, sounding absolutely sincere. "I really liked the two of you together. But Sybil, darling…it may not be too late. This isn't like you at all, Sybil. In all your life I've never known you to just sit back and let things happen for you. You've always been out right in front, trying to make your life happen the way that you want it to…so what changed? It can't just be Larry Grey. I know you far too well to believe that. I refuse to believe that this is what you want, Sybil, to let a perfectly good man like Tom walk out of your life like that. I saw the two of you together. I saw how happy you were."

For a moment, Sybil was ready to come clean. She took a deep breath, ready to tell her father the truth about her "relationship" with Tom, how it had been a sham from the beginning. But in the end, she couldn't speak. Her father had already had one illusion about the people he cared about shattered today when he'd learned the truth about Larry and Rose. He didn't need another one. And if Sybil told him the truth, she knew she wouldn't be able to keep the tears at bay.

Luckily, her father still had more to say. He sat back, looking thoughtful as he cast his gaze out onto the church lawn in front of them. "You know, Sybil, ever since you were a kid, you never cared about what other people think." He gave a chuckle. "No, you let Edith and Mary do that. You never cared about what anyone thought about you, so why are you letting yourself do that now? Come on, Sybil, forget about all that for just a moment. I want you to be happy…you do know that, right?"

Sybil nodded.

"Then what do _you_ think, Sybil? Is Tom Branson the man for you?"

In the end, Sybil didn't even need to think. The answer had been there, on the tip of her tongue, from the moment she had watched Tom walk away from her the night before. "Yes," she said immediately, nodding her head, her voice somewhat breathless. "Yes…I think so. Yes, he is."

Robert smiled at her. "Well then," he said, as if that settled the matter. "What are you waiting for? Go, Sybil. It might not be too late. Go and get him."

It took Sybil a minute to realize just what he was offering. Her father had essentially given her permission to leave her sister's wedding—although at this rate, who knew when that would finally get under way—so that she could finally, after all this time, take control of her own life. Mary had been right all along when she had asked Sybil why it had been so easy to forgive her and not Tom. It shouldn't have been. It shouldn't have mattered. When you loved someone—and Sybil was beginning to realize that she did, in fact, love Tom Branson no matter how impossible it might seem…you forgave them. Sybil had not even given Tom a chance to explain himself before she had let him walk out of her life. She had to find him. She had to give him that chance now. She had to see him again, even if it was just one last time, and tell him how she felt. That was when Sybil realized that the woman she had been before Larry had blindsided her, the side of Sybil that she had been so convinced that the breakup had ruined forever, was back. She finally felt like herself again, ready to take a chance on love.

To let Tom Branson into her heart, just like he had said.

"Thank you, Papa," she whispered. She kissed his cheek and handed him her bouquet, standing up. "Thank you…" He nodded at her, practically beaming with pride. If someone had asked Robert Crawley whether it would be possible that, on his eldest daughter's wedding day, he would be sitting here telling his youngest to abandon the festivities and go chasing after a man, an Irishman at that, he no doubt would have laughed right in their faces. Now, though, here he was doing just that.

Sybil gave him one last smile before turning away. She had to get to the chauffuer's cottage before it was too late.

_Fuck baby steps._

* * *

William grinned. "Finally."

Sybil looked up at him, amusement and curiosity written in her eyes. She had located William just outside the church, where he had been previously acting as the valet parking attendant before the ceremony and was now promoted to active lookout, ready to alert the congregation at the first sign of the groom returning. Sybil had dashed over to him and explained the situation, telling him she needed a car to track down Tom and apologize for what had happened the night before and finally tell him how she felt. He had listened with a smile on his face the entire time, nodding his head occasionally, completely abandoning the road he was supposed to be watching in case Matthew came back. "Finally what?" she asked.

William looked slightly flustered, but his grin remained as bright as ever. "Well, it's just…you were the one who was always pushing me to tell Daisy how I feel, even though I was scared. I did what you said, and now…well, she's my date to the reception. She promised me."

Sybil's mouth fell open in delight. "William, that's wonderful!" she cried out, throwing her arms around her friend. "I'm so proud of you!"

"Want to know a secret?" William asked delightedly. "So am I. You were the one who told me to take that leap, Sybil, and I did. And so I had been wondering when you were going to start listening to your own advice." He held out his hand to her, car keys dangling from the tip of his index finger. "Go get him, Sybil."

Sybil stared at the keys. "No, William, I can't drive that. I can't. I won't get there in time…and Papa…"

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him. These are the only keys I have on me right now, he wanted me to keep them safe." He gave a wry grin. "Don't know why, these only unlock the doors, after all, so someone could still break in and drive off with it—"

"William!"

"Only joking, Sybil! Anyway, if you wanted a different car, I'd have to go inside. Just take her. She's not as slow as you think, she'll get you where you need to go?"

"She?" Sybil asked. "You've been talking to Tom, haven't you?"

"He's a good guy, Sybil. You know that, or else you wouldn't be ready to go after him right now. Just go. It'll be fine, I promise you."

Sybil hesitated for one more second before turning and dashing towards the car William had given her, throwing a thank-you over her shoulder. She reached it and quickly unlocked the door, hopping inside and pressing the button to start it. For a moment, the engine seemed to protest before it caught, and Sybil quickly tried to remember the lessons she'd had to drive this particular vehicle. "Come on, come on, baby, don't fail me now…"

It was touch and go at first, but soon enough, Sybil and the Renault that Tom had so admired were off towards the chauffeur's cottage, waving at William one last time before they had rattled out of sight.

_Thank you…_


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note:**

**There's not much I can really say except to apologize for my long hiatus. It was for a number of reasons, including starting school again and having to adjust to that, some other personal issues, and writers block. I know that over two months is an unacceptable amount of time to wait for a new chapter, but if you've stuck it out with me this long, then I want to say thank you. I highly doubt this chapter was worth the long wait, but I hope it was, and I sincerely hope you enjoy it. Hopefully there won't be any more epic hiatuses for me for a while. As always, thank you to my wonderful readers for being both patient while they wait and eager for me to start again!**

**This chapter is dedicated to Yankeecountess, who is not only one of my most faithful fans but a terrific friend as well, and who helped a lot with getting this chapter off the ground. You rock, YC!**

**And without further ado, here it is! Hope you enjoy, and once again I apologize from the bottom of my heart for my lengthy absence.**

* * *

_Don't speak as I try to leave 'cause we both know what we'll choose_

_If you pull then I'll push too deep and I'll fall right back to you_

'_Cause you are the piece of me I wish I didn't need_

_Chasing relentlessly,_

_Still fight and I don't know why_

_If our love is tragedy, why are you my remedy?_

_If our love's insanity, why are you my clarity?_

"Clarity" by Zedd

* * *

"You backstabbing weasel!"

Matthew Crawley's livid voice rang in Larry's ears, and he sped up, almost tripping over his own feet in the process. Matthew and Shrimpy had been chasing him steadily since the church, but the old man had apparently tired out, leaving just the very angry groom in Larry's wake. Matthew, unfortunately for Larry, showed no signs of slowing any time soon, and Larry sped up. "What the hell were you thinking?" Matthew shouted. "You were _dating Sybil!_"

"Look, mate, it's all finished now! Rose is with someone else, and so is Sybil! I've moved on—it's all sorted! Why are you so angry about this?"

"Because you _lied to everyone!_ You _broke Sybil's heart,_ you disgusting bastard! I ought to wring your neck…" Suddenly Matthew's voice seemed much closer than it had been before, and Larry let out a very unmanly squeak as he felt Matthew grab a handful of his suit jacket. Quickly, he shrugged it off, hearing the seams of the sleeves rip below his arms and leaving Matthew with just the torn remains of the jacket to deal with. _Damn,_ Larry thought petulantly. _That suit was an Armani…_

Distracted by the useless fabric in his hands and no doubt confused by what Larry had just done, Matthew slowed down a bit. Larry took his chance, dashing off as if shot from a canon. He needed a place to hide, just until everyone had cooled off and it was safe for him again. He knew the perfect place…he just had to find the shortcut that he and Sybil had created when they were children._ And by the time I get there, old Matthew will have given up…_

He took off in the direction of Downton Abbey.

Under ordinary circumstances, Sybil Crawley was an excellent driver.

She always obeyed the speed limit (well, except for when she was running late for work, which these days was perhaps more often than it ought to have been), and before the morning that she had accidentally crashed into Tom, had only been in one car accident in her entire life. Now, though, she felt like a teenager again as she sat behind the wheel of the Renault, gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were white as they rattled along. She tried desperately to recall the few lessons her father had given her in driving the vintage car, which had never seemed so hard to control when either her proud father or Anthony was in the seat beside her telling her what to do. Now, though, every bump in the road made her heart turn over as she drove on, trying desperately to maintain some sort of control over the car so that she and her father's prized Renault wouldn't end up in a ditch somewhere. Sybil felt almost sick as she rattled down the road towards her home and the chauffeur's cottage, where she would hopefully find Tom. She hadn't yet thought of what she would do if she came to the cottage and found him gone. She couldn't bring herself to. Not yet.

She hit a particularly jagged bump in the road and nearly screamed as she was propelled out of her seat and up into the air, clasping the steering wheel with such force she feared it might actually break off in her hands. She landed with a bump in the hard leather seat, swearing loudly. She already knew this would no doubt be her last excursion in the Renault, the bumpy ride making her wonder why people had even tolerated riding in it a hundred years ago. Her heart was pounding, and she forced herself to take deep, even breaths. It almost hurt that the one person she knew who could calm her down right now was the very person she was driving to see…and she wasn't even sure that he would still be there when she arrived. _Please,_ she thought desperately, urging the Renault to go faster as they jolted along down the road. _Please, please, please…please be there, Tom. Don't let our fight be the last words I ever say to you. I couldn't live with myself if they were…Please, Tom. Please just don't give up on me yet._

The drive to Downton seemed to stretch on forever in a way that it never had before. Sybil's palms on the steering wheel were sweating, each jostle of the vintage car on the rough road below seeming to rattle her very bones. And yet beneath all of that, beneath the crippling nervousness that made her breath hitch in her throat, there was something else as well—a certain sense of exhilaration. For the first time since the breakup, Sybil Crawley was finally following her heart, and her heart was leading her towards Tom Branson. In a way, it had been leading her to him all along.

She could only hope that, in spite of everything, Tom would still be there waiting for her.

_Please. Please just let me explain…_

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she saw Downton Abbey rising up in the distance. Her heart, still beating out a painful staccato rhythm in her chest, nearly turned over as she eased the Renault up the drive towards the garage and the old chauffeur's cottage, where Mary had told her that Matthew had talked Tom into staying the night. The cottage's windows were dark as she pulled up the drive, looking all but deserted. Her breath hitched. _Oh God…_

How would she be able to live with herself if he was gone? If she went in there to find that she really had driven Tom away from her forever?

The Renault rolled to a stop and Sybil sat there for a moment, staring up at the cottage. Now that she was here she was beginning to see just how mad this entire idea had been from the start. What, exactly, had she been thinking? Yes, her father had let her go, and she had to admit that it felt amazing to finally be following her heart after pushing it away and hiding it for so long. Now that she was here, though, she wasn't so sure. Had leaving the wedding really been a good idea? Here she was, in a bridesmaid dress with a wilting bouquet on the seat next to her, sitting in the same vintage car that had witnessed their one night together, waiting to open her heart to a man who might or might not even be on the other side of the door. It seemed too crazy to even be real, something the old Sybil would have never even thought of doing…and she wasn't even sure if it was going to work.

_Have I gone completely mad?_

But no. She had come too far to back out now. Sybil knew that no matter how hard this was, even if she went up to the door to find Tom already gone, she wouldn't be able to forgive herself if she just turned right back around without even trying. If she did that, she would always wonder about what could have been. It was time to make a stand, to take control over her own life for once. She had spent too long playing it safe—playing it safe by dating Larry, by withdrawing so much after the breakup, by trying to distance herself from Tom even as she had been trying so desperately all weekend to make her entire family think she was madly in love with him. Sybil Crawley was tired of playing it safe. She wanted to take a chance again, to speak her mind, to feel like her old self. She wanted to bet—on her future, on her happiness and courage and everything that she had thought that Larry had stolen away from her. She wanted to bet on Tom Branson.

Sybil got out of the car.

Her heels stuck in the muddy grass as she marched up to the front door, making a fist to knock before giving in and turning the knob herself. It wasn't locked, which she took to be a good sign as she came inside, glancing around the main room of the cottage's first floor.

It was empty.

The cottage was as immaculate as always, not a single thing out of place. There didn't seem to be a single sign that Tom had been here at all, and Sybil's heart sank beneath the floorboards. Could he really be gone? Had it all been for nothing after all? After all this, had he left without giving her the chance to apologize…to say goodbye…to tell him the things that she had been meaning to for so long now?

_Tom…where are you?_

"Hello?"

Sybil froze, wheeling around just in time to see Tom himself striding down the last few stairs towards her. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of her, standing in the middle of the cottage gaping at him. He was dressed in a suit and morning coat, to her astonishment, one that seemed to have been thrown on in a hurry due to the slight sloppiness of the buttons. He didn't look entirely comfortable wearing it, from the way he carried himself as he walked and how he tugged on the collar as he approached her, but she couldn't help but notice how good it looked on him even so. There didn't seem to be anything he didn't look good in, and as he came up beside her she couldn't help but imagine dancing with him at Mary's wedding reception with him dressed like this, as if her imagination had a mind of its own and ha decided to do her thinking for her. His brow furrowed and he blinked a few times, as if he thought that she were some illusion that would disappear the moment he closed his eyes..or perhaps he was just hoping that that was the case. "Sybil?" he asked in disbelief. "Wh—what are you doing here?"

In that moment, Sybil forgot how to speak. She stood there in silence for a moment, hardly able to believe that he was even there at all. He hadn't left her like she'd thought…he'd stayed. After all the horrible things she had said to him last night, he had stayed anyway…and she hoped that he had stayed for her.

"I needed to see you," she whispered.

And then there was silence once more. Sybil's mind had gone completely blank, and she frantically searched for something, anything, to say to him…

"You're in a morning coat," she finally managed to croak out, and she thought she might have seen the faintest hint of a smile on his face.

"I am," he agreed quietly.

"I…I thought you hated them," Sybil said lamely, looking away. "You told me you hated them."

"I do," Tom said, looking away from her for a moment. "I'm making a major sacrifice of both my morals and my personal comfort by even putting it on. But…"

"But what?"

He gave a shrug, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "I hadn't decided whether or not I was going to the wedding yet or not. I told Matthew I would try to be there…but…" He released one hand in order to run his fingers through his hair nervously. Sybil tried not to stare as each lock slipped from his fingers, remembering how it felt to have those hands delicately caressing her…

"But I wasn't sure if I would be too late or not. I wasted too much time trying to decide that I forgot to watch the clock." He didn't mention that he had been thinking of her even more than he had been thinking of whether or not to go. She didn't need to know that, not when he still wasn't sure what she was even doing here. "Did I…did I miss the wedding?" he asked hesitantly, finally seeming to take in the sight of her in her purple bridesmaids dress, her hair twisted into an elaborate updo that now seemed to be cutting into her scalp. She was almost glad that he seemed unwilling to meet her eyes for very long, because it meant he wouldn't notice how badly she was shaking. "Is it over already?"

Sybil shook her head, not even knowing where exactly to start explaining everything that had happened since they had last seen each other. All the words she hadn't said yet, the words she couldn't say and the ones that she was dying to say so badly that it was almost painful, were mixing up inside her head until she felt as if she might suddenly faint. How could she focus on smalltalk when there were so many other important things to say…things that she might never get another opportunity to tell him? She had one chance. She had to take it soon, or she never would.

But even so, she found herself telling him what had happened anyway, not ready yet to take that leap of faith that she had come here for. She needed to wait just a little while longer, even if it almost killed her in the process. Before she told him how she felt, she needed to know if he was even willing to listen—which, as they stood there, seemed to be more and more unlikely. "The wedding…" she began, wringing her hands in front of her, "it hasn't exactly happened yet. There was…it's all a big mess, basically. Mary told everyone what Larry and Rose did, and her father and Matthew flew off the handle and chased him out of the church…I don't even know if they've come back yet." She chuckled weakly. "You can't really have a wedding without the groom."

"I guess not," Tom agreed before shaking his head and letting out a long, low whistle. "I almost wish I had been there to see that."

To Sybil, hearing the word _almost_ was like taking a bullet.

The awkwardness was so thick between them that it seemed to choke her, but she forced out another strangled chuckle instead, trying to ignore the pain he probably hadn't even realized that he had caused her. "No, the best part was Granny tripping Larry as he tried to run away. _That's_ what you should have stuck around to see."

That did make him smile, and Sybil's heart soared at the sight. Maybe this wouldn't be so painful after all. "You're probably right about that," Tom agreed, finally letting his gaze meet Sybil's for more than a moment. His eyes swept over her form in the dress without meaning to, taking in the full sight of her and trying not to think about how she had felt in his arms wearing nothing at all. She was so beautiful that his next sentence slipped from his mouth without meaning to, although he found afterwards that he didn't regret it. After everything that had happened the night before, after chasing her down in the rain and shouting all those hurtful words at her in order to hide his own pain, and hearing her spout just as much pain and anger right back at him, he didn't regret the words that chose that moment to fly out of his mouth. "You look incredible, Sybil."

His words hung in the air between them as his blue eyes seemed to pierce hers, and it took everything Sybil had not to throw herself into his arms right then and there. "Th-thank you," she whispered.

They both fell silent for a moment.

"I thought you'd have left," Sybil said, her voice still breathless as if she had been running uphill just to get to him. She would have, if she had needed to. No matter what happened between the two of them, no matter where they discovered they had to go from here, she couldn't let him slip out of her life without at least giving him the explanation he deserved, the apology that had been on the tip of her tongue ever since Mary had spoken up last night…and the words she had been dying to say since practically their first kiss together out on the lawn at Downton.

She saw a flash of what might have been a smile cross Tom's face, that sparkle in his eye that was now so familiar to her returning again, although it only lasted a moment. "I thought so too," he said, his voice a bit huskier than normal—or was that just Sybil's imagination? "I…I wanted to, for a bit," he admitted, looking guilty. "I wanted to go. Just…" he trailed off, his blue eyes locked onto hers.

Sybil's heart raced even faster, if it were possible. "Just what?"

"Just not as much as I wanted to stay."

Sybil's heart almost stopped altogether. For a moment, all the two of them did was stare at each other, that one single moment seeming to stretch on for ages. Then, as if on cue, they both started talking at once.

"Tom, I—"

"Listen, Sybil—"

They stopped abruptly, looking away. Sybil found her cheeks reddening, and part of her childishly wondered if coming here was a good idea at all. But awkwardness or not, she had to push through. She had to at least try to explain herself to Tom. After everything she had forced him through this weekend—not just the fight, but the bachelor party, Larry in general, putting up with her incorrigible relatives—she owed him at least that much. She smiled apologetically at him. "You first."

He didn't return the smile, but his eyes held something that she couldn't quite understand. She had been expecting anger—she had half-anticipated him slamming the door in her face, or at least refusing to speak to her altogether—but Tom simply looked sad. "No, you. Please."

Sybil sighed, shaking her head. "No. I want you to go first. I'm so sick and tired of talking. That's all I've been doing this weekend is talking, Tom. Talking and talking and only thinking about myself—its what I've been doing my whole life. It's just like what you said yesterday…I _was_ being selfish. I just didn't want to admit it. All I ever do is talk, I know, and its usually about myself. Around you, though…its different somehow. It's just…" she trailed off lamely for a moment. "It's only when I'm around you that I finally feel like I'm talking about something that's worth saying."

Now he did smile, only for a fleeting instant before it was gone again. That was all the encouragement Sybil needed. "Then say it, Sybil," he said softly. "Say something worth listening to. Tell me…tell me whatever it is that you came here to tell me. I'll listen this time. I promise."

"That breakup…it destroyed me, Tom. I felt like a part of me had been ripped away, and that what was left…wasn't me anymore. Like I was just a shell of the person I used to be, and there was none of the real me left inside. I completely withdrew from the world. I didn't call my family for weeks, I stopped eating—when I wasn't eating everything under the sun, that is. I skipped work without even calling in first—once they sent my assistant over to check on me, and she found me lying on the floor with an empty bottle of tequila, crying and singing along to 'The Winner Takes It All…"

"Ouch," Tom said without thinking, giving a theatrical wince. "That bad, huh? I mean, of all the breakup songs in the world…you went with ABBA?"

"I said it was a low point in my life, remember?" came Sybil's sassy retort, surprise herself with a peal of actual laughter. "I never said I was proud of any of it. But I'd never regret listening to ABBA in any circumstances, for the record. Don't insult my music."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Tom agreed. It was becoming easier now, talking to her again, even though their fight last night still hung like a stormcloud above both of their heads, separating them when all they wanted—or at least all he wanted—was to become close to each other again. "That was a bit of a low blow. Sorry."

She smiled. "Tom, after everything I said to you last night. I think I deserve much worse than just you insulting my choice of breakup songs. Like I said, it was…it was a bad time for me, Tom. I look at who I was six months ago when it happened and I don't even recognize that girl anymore. It's almost like it happened to someone else…like I can't believe, or don't want to believe, that that horrible, broken girl was me. But it was. That's the horrible part, it was me. And last night at the rehearsal dinner…to find out that it was Rose that caused all of it, and that my family knew all along…that _you_ knew…"

"I'm sorry," he blurted out, unable to hold back any longer. "I'm sorry, Sybil. I should have told you—"

"No, it's all right," Sybil interrupted, soothing him with a smile. "I…I understand that now. Or at least, I know why you did it…you know, it's funny, but it was actually something that Mary said last night that made me realize it. She asked why it was so easy for me to forgive her and Edith and mama and everyone else who knew for not telling me, but so hard to forgive you for doing the same thing…"

"Isn't that what I told you yesterday in the rain?" Tom asked, his tone unreadable, although Sybil thought he seemed slightly annoyed with her now. She backpedaled, not wanting to ruin everything again before she'd even had a chance to explain herself. She suddenly reached out and took hold of his hand, needing to keep him there with her, not about to let him go walking out of her life again. Not after last time…not when she knew that if she screwed this up, there might never be another chance for her and Tom.

"Yeah, it is," she said softly. "I know. I realize that now. But…I don't know. It felt differently coming from her. Because she's family, Tom…maybe she knew she was the only person who could ever say something like that and actually get through to me. I don't know. But, when she said that, I knew I'd made a mistake. I wanted to go to you right away, but I thought you wouldn't want to see me—"

"Last night, maybe I wouldn't have," Tom admitted, trying to ignore the little tingles that had erupted up and down his arm at her soft touch on his wrist. "You've heard of the famous hotheaded Irish temper? It's not as much of an urban legend as most of us would like to think. The stereotype…sometimes it isn't that far off. I didn't mean to snap at you, Sybil. I guess if it took Mary saying that to get you to come down here and find me, I ought to be thanking her," he added in a softer tone. Both of them seemed to realize that they were walking on eggshells around each other still. Another Sybil, the Sybil she had been before Tom had found her and brought back her true self, might have backed off by now. But not this Sybil. This Sybil still had so much more to say.

"Tom, listen to me. Just hear me out, that's all I'm asking. I…I get now that you didn't tell me for the same reason that they didn't. You were trying to protect me, in a way, by hiding the truth. It might not have been the best thing to do, but you at least had good reasons for it—which was better than Rose and Larry had—" Tom looked pained at the mention of their names, and Sybil quickly moved on. "Mary told me if would have broken me, that she hid the truth because she couldn't bear to see me in pain again after everything that had happened. I guess she was right after all. All of them…I guess they were just trying to keep me from getting hurt again, especially since the breakup was so horrible—"

"Did you love him, then?"

The question had flown from Tom's mouth before he could stop it, and now it hung in the air between them where he could never take it back. He couldn't help it. It had been the one thing that he had been dying to ask her throughout this entire weekend—from the moment she had kissed him in front of Larry Grey, really—but now was the first time that he could be certain that would be getting a straight answer from her. All he wanted was the truth, to know whether or not Sybil had ever truly had feelings for the man who had shattered her heart. Before he told her what had been on his mind since the moment he'd seen her walking up the drive—the moment he had run after her at the rehearsal dinner yesterday, really—before he told her any of that, all of those things that had been threatening to fly out of his mouth almost from the moment she'd rear-ended him in London only a few days before, he needed to know once and for all whether Sybil Crawley had ever really loved Larry Grey.

Tom's hands crept their way into his pockets, and his entire being seemed to slump. For some reason, he felt like a schoolboy who had been caught misbehaving in his favorite teacher's class, and he couldn't meet Sybil's eyes. He felt guilty enough for even asking. He couldn't bear to make things worse by seeing her reaction. "I mean…for you to have had a reaction like that, you really must have loved him. I mean…didn't you?"

Silence. Tom's heart sank, and then…

"No."

His blue eyes darted up to hers so quickly it almost hurt, hardly daring to believe that he had heard her right. "No?"

There was a new light in Sybil's blue eyes now, and when she spoke, it was rapidly as if she were just discovering something for the first time—which, in reality, she was. "No. Not once. I only thought I did, Tom. For two years I tricked myself into thinking I was happy, into thinking that I cared for Larry enough to stay with him for the long haul. I think I kept telling myself that if I pretended to be happy, and if I started doing the little things Larry wanted me to do, that would make _him_ happy, eventually I would be happy too. I was chipping away little pieces of myself for him and I didn't even fully realize it until later. Did you know I wanted to be a nurse, way back before Larry and I even started dating, and he and my family managed to talk me out of it? I mean, I love the job I have now, I really do, but I always find myself wondering what my life would have been like if I'd just stuck to my guns and done what I actually wanted to do…our entire relationship was like that, and I was too blind to see it before. I didn't love him, Tom. I never did. I think I loved the idea of him, or I wanted to love him because that's what was expected of me…but I really didn't love him. I trusted him, which is what hurt so badly when he ended things…and when I found out why. I trusted him, and I shouldn't have done. But I never loved him, Tom. Not once. How could I have, when…"

Somewhere during her speech Tom had stepped closer to her without realizing it, and so they were standing only a few inches apart now. "When what?" he breathed.

Her heart stuttered in her chest, breathing having suddenly become difficult. "When I think everything I never even knew I wanted is standing right in front of me."

She watched those beautiful blue eyes of his widen, and suddenly all she wanted to do was leap into the arms that had helped hold her together so many times this weekend already. She had realized that first morning in bed together when she'd woken up with his arms tight around her how natural it felt, how amazing it was to feel so safe by simply laying in someone else's embrace. All weekend she had been trying to find her way back into those arms, but she had pushed them away too many times. All she could do now was wait and see whether he would ever welcome her back in again.

_I'm sorry, Tom…_

She could only hope that sorry would be enough this time.

He blinked at her, her sweet voice echoing through his mind, still hardly even able to believe what he had just heard her say. He could only pray that he hadn't misinterpreted her yet again, that her speech had been as heartfelt and genuine as he thought it was. "Sybil…" he whispered, taking another step closer. "Do..do you really mean that?"

The time had come. It was now or never. Sybil took a deep breath and stepped forward, taking hold of his hands with her trembling ones. His were so warm in his grasp, and he clasped them gently but firmly as well, as if he was trying to give some of his own warmth back to her. Her eyes remained locked on his as she opened her mouth to speak. "Tom—"

She never got to finish what she'd been about to say.

At that exact moment, her heart jumped in alarm as the door to the cottage flew open. They both whirled around, still holding hands. Sybil's mouth dropped open at the sight of the bedraggled newcomer. His hair was a mess and he was breathing heavily as beads of sweat dripped down his face. Somehow, he had ripped his jacket and left it behind, leaving only the sleeves still on his body. He put his hands on his knees and wheezed for breath for a moment before stopping short, finally realizing that he was not the only one in the room. His dark eyes widened as he took in the sight of them, looking almost as surprised as Sybil was. She opened her mouth to speak, hardly even able to believe that of all people, _he_ had come to ruin her perfect moment with Tom.

"_Larry?!"_


End file.
